


No Use Crying

by Odderancy (dreamcatchers_and_chocolate)



Series: Tales from Natéa [2]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: A certain amount of, Abortion, Adultery, Alright now for the fucked up stuff:, Alternate Universe - Swapfell, Alternate Universe - Underfell, Alternate Universe - Underswap, Blackmail, Blood, Concubines, Domestic Violence, Execution, Fear, Forced Marriage, Forced Pregnancy, Forced Submission, Gore, Harems, I'm still not comfortable writing this messed up stuff why am I doing this, Implied marital rape, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mental Abuse, Mpreg, Murder, Natéa, Non-Sexual Slavery, Nothing explicit, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Self-Harm, Sexual Slavery, Swapfell Papyrus - Freeform, Underfell Papyrus, Underfell Sans, Underswap Papyrus, Underswap Sans, but that's a minor thing, mentioned child corpse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-04-06 15:10:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14059623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamcatchers_and_chocolate/pseuds/Odderancy
Summary: A tribe of travelling merchants gets attacked, and most of them are killed. A few, however, are taken prisoner. One of these is Papyrus, who is the only one taken to the royal palace. A fate perhaps worse than that of the other survivors awaits him there, in the form of the king.





	1. Chapter 1

Someone was shaking him. Screaming his name. “Pap, Papyrus, wake _up_ , we have to _go_!”

Confused, he opened his eyes, finding himself staring into the face of his brother. Immediately, he was completely awake. Slim’s eyes were wide and _teary_. He looked terrified. Sitting up in his bed, Papyrus suddenly could smell it. Smoke. That meant fire. And, he realized, screams echoed in the background. He rolled out of the bed, thankful it’d been too cold to undress the night before. But as he began making his way toward the tent opening, Slim grabbed his wrist. He was shaking his head frantically. Pointed toward the back. In that very moment, a shrieking echoed through the camp.

Bewildered, Papyrus stared at his brother. That was the sound of steel hitting something hard. But their tribe didn’t _use_ steel. It was too impractical in the Sun’s heat. Slim only hushed him, dragging him toward the back. From his sleeve, he whisked out a small dagger. A ripping sound was heard as Slim cut open the canvas. What was _going on_? Papyrus’ soul pounded in his chest as he followed his brother outside. There, he froze.

In horror, he stared at the encampment. A small gasp escaped him. Beneath his bare feet, the hot sand burned, but he didn’t care. Their people was screaming, running for their lives, and their warriors fighting as good as they could, but it didn’t seem to be enough. He watched in horror as a childhood friend had their head cut off by a soldier on horseback, their body falling limp to the ground. By their side, a child corpse lied. Slapping his hands for his mouth so he wouldn’t scream, he watched.

“Where’s Sans?” he turned to ask Slim, only to get a desperate gaze and a headshake in return.

“I don’t _know_.”

Feeling panic rise, Papyrus stared at him. Their brother. Where was their brother? As he twisted around to try to find him among the tribe-members out there, his breathing turned shallow. _Sans_. Slim jerked at his arm, trying to drag him along the tents. Away from the battle. Only meters from them, Undyne was facing another horse-carried soldier. Her spear clashed hard with the steel sword, but it wouldn’t work for long. They weren’t warriors, they were merchants. Those they called warriors were just caravan guards. Why- he swallowed as he allowed Slim to drag him along, without being able to stop staring. -Why would anyone attack them? They’d never hurt anyone.

Glancing down on the braided bracelet around his wrist, he remembered, and wondered how had he been able to forget, “ _Red_. Where’s _Red_?”

“Fighting,” Slim gasped out as they ran into a cloud of smoke. Their tents were burning. Their merchandise was burning. Papyrus coughed, placing an arm before his mouth. The engagement bracelet seemed to burn around his wrist. _No_. Against an army, they didn’t stand a chance. _His fiancé_ didn’t stand a chance. “And so is Fell.”

Suddenly, the sound of hooves became louder. Glancing back, Papyrus saw another flock of horses and soldiers – the _foreigners_ – thundering over the stone plateau. They were wielding swords, spears, bows. Tears welled up in his eyes. Where could they even go? They were in the middle of nowhere, at least a day’s walk to the next city. The sunlight reflected in the steel weapons, making it hard to see their way. Then, Undyne let out a scream. His gaze snapped back to her, just in time to see her sinking to the ground. A sob rose in his throat. _Undyne_.

“Keep going, Paps,” Slim gasped out. Despite the words, his voice was choked up. It shook slightly. A rattling was heard as he threw the skeleton of a half-burned tent out of the way. “You can mourn later. Just _run_.”

It hit him. This wasn’t the first time Slim saw something like this, was it? The thought made Papyrus’ soul hurt even more. It was beating erratically in his chest. That was how he’d become a part of their family. He’d been the sole survivor of another attacked tribe, a warrior tribe, when the two of them had only been four. Slim had lost a brother that time. Perhaps he’d lost another today. Nodding, Papyrus swallowed down the tears. Swallowed down the fear. Run now. Cry later.

They’d reached the stone plateau at the border of the camp. Suddenly, a dark shape fell over them. Papyrus let out a groan as he collided with Slim’s back. The other had frozen, throwing out an arm before him. Beginning to tremble, he followed the shadow along the ground and up. Up over grey horse legs, over a beautifully decorated saddle, and up to a grinning face. Papyrus gaped, unable to get out a noise, as he watched the glistening sword they were loosely, comfortably, holding. It was obvious they were used to the weapon. What would’ve been a beautiful forgery made his stomach turn. Red dripped down the blade. It was drenched in the blood of his tribe.

Slim was trembling as well, he could see it. He could _feel_ it, since his brother’s other hand was now holding his wrist tightly. The soldier – _no wait_. A small gasp escaped him as the sunlight reflected in something golden on the stranger’s head. A crown. They were wearing a bejewelled crown. Not a soldier. A king.

He seemed so hear Papyrus, and his grin grew wider. His face had a few blood-drops on it, but he didn’t seem bothered. Instead his gaze travelled over Slim and Papyrus, and as it did Papyrus felt his _skin_ crawl. He held in a sob at the joke. Sans would’ve loved it, had he been here. He adored the stupid, cliché type of jokes.

“You’re a pretty one,” the king murmured in Dhur, their language, his gaze caught on Papyrus’ terrified face. Neither brother moved. A terrible coolness travelled through Papyrus as the sword tip was put beneath his jaw. Inhaling quickly, he clenched his fists. Stay. Still. His head tilted upwards, and the king chuckled. “Didn’t think you barbarians could be good-looking, but seems like I was wrong. Heh.”

He barked out some words on a language Papyrus couldn’t understand. The sword tip left him, and he exhaled deeply, sagging in relief. Slim squeezed his wrist harder. It was hurting him, but he didn’t tell the other to stop. Somehow, it was like a relief. A reminder at least one of his brothers was there. Safe. At least for now. Then, galloping hooves against stone was heard, before they stopped right behind them. Twisting around in alarm, Papyrus found himself staring at three blood-drenched, grinning soldiers who were all saluting their king.

Another few words in the strange language was uttered, and two of them dismounted their horses. Slim and Papyrus both flinched backwards as they stepped toward them. Grunting in pain, Slim stumbled. Papyrus watched fearfully as he fell to his knees, letting go of his wrist. A bloodied boot-imprint covered the thin linens of his back.

“Slim!” Papyrus called out, quickly kneeling to his brother’s side. His voice shook as he spoke, “Are you okay?”

Grinning weakly, Slim nodded. Papyrus heaved the other’s arm over his shoulder, helping him to stand. Unable to help himself, he glared at the king. The king blinked, seeming annoyed. Scoffing, he gestured at the soldiers again. Papyrus let out a shriek as he was grabbed, pried away from Slim. His soul pounded in his chest as his brother was forced to kneel, letting out small noises in pain, and he himself was made to face the king.

“Behave,” the king said, seemingly amused with it all. A flash of anger came over Papyrus. How could he be so happy when Papyrus’ family was being massacred? When his older brother was gone and his adopted twin was hurt? How _dared_ he? How dared a foreigner do this to them, in their _own desert_? The anger was gone just as fast as it came. His arms had been forced to his back, twisted around. If he’d move, it’d hurt, that much he understood.

The king leaned down, and Papyrus’ eyes widened in terror as the other grabbed his jaw, turning his face at sides. The screaming and clashing of weapons in the background almost became background noise in the blinding panic he felt. He didn’t know why. The other was just… he wasn’t _hurting_ him. And yet. Yet he could hardly breathe before the king let go off him again. He nodded, seeming pleased.

“This _is_ good.” At first, Papyrus didn’t think he was talking to him. Then he stared him straight into the eyes, and he froze. Their voice was sharp as they told him, “You. Behave. If you do, this barbarian won’t get hurt. Understood?”

Nodding quickly, Papyrus swallowed. _Please don’t hurt his brother_. The king’s grin returned in full force. He nodded sharply, and then his horse went from standing still to gallop in a second. Papyrus didn’t even dare to turn and watch after him as he went into the screaming crowd again.

The wind whines in his ears as a guard shoved their spear against his back. Casting Slim a helpless gaze, he walked. He had no idea why they weren’t just killing him, but he almost wished they would. Around him, the battle had begun to die. His soul pounded violently in his chest as he watched. Watched his family – because the entire tribe was family – being hoarded like animals. Some forced to kneel, immediately beheaded. Some put in chains. He stopped as he saw an even more familiar face among the ones kneeling to be chained. Red.

Choking out the name, he felt his eyes fill with tears as his fiancé hastily looked up. Red’s eyes were filled with terror, which both seemed to grow and lessen as he stared at Papyrus. A small pang of pain flashed through his back. A sword poked at his back. Sending Red a last gaze, trying to convey just how much he loved the other, how his soul literally _hurt_ from the love and worry he was feeling, Papyrus continued to walk. He was led into a small, enclosed carriage, and then the doors closed behind him. Everything went dark.

* * *

He didn’t know how long it had been. The carriage rattled as it stopped again. Papyrus leaned against the wooden wall, opening his eyes tiredly. Finally. That meant they’d open the doors to give him food, and then he could get a glance of the world outside. Of the sand plains, of the constantly clear blue sky, of the Sun. Even if it was only for a few seconds. Sitting inside in the dark like this was unbearable. He was a Dhurine. He wasn’t made for it. The Sun had created them to walk in Her wonderful light, not for this _hell_.

By now, he was too tired to even react anymore. He’d spent the first day crying, but then the tears had just… stopped. There was no energy left, and he had never been so exhausted before in his life. Not even after walked through the desert for a full day during the hottest weeks of summer. Papyrus just felt numb.

He imagined he’d been locked in here for about four days? Probably? Everything he had to go on was the two meals a day he was served when they stopped. Why he was here, he couldn’t even guess. There couldn’t be enough carriages to keep everyone he’d seen taken prisoner alone, so why he had been he didn’t even want to guess. Then the door scrambled, sliding open. Papyrus blinked against the strong sunlight. His eyes hurt but didn’t want to close his eyes. The warmth washed over his bones, and he felt his entire body relax, just a little. Enough.

However, the people standing there didn’t slide in any food. Instead they gave him a hard gaze, jerking their thumbs backwards. “Get out.”

For a moment, Papyrus stared at them. Then he scrambled to his knees, crawling toward the opening. It was too low in roof to walk. As he sat down at the edge, they gave him a few seconds to get used to the strong light. The sky above was clear, as always. The Sun shone brightly, and seemed in fact to be warmer than She should this time of year. Once he could see properly again, his eyes widened. This wasn’t the desert. This wasn’t even Dhurinelle, the desert’s only city, where he’d only been once in his life. Instead of the beige sandstone of the city’s streets and buildings, this was all white and grey. The ground was grey stone, the building surrounding him white as the rare cloud. Marble.

They weren’t in Dhurin anymore. He didn’t know _where_ he was, but there was no place like this in the desert. Soon, however, he didn’t have time to gawk anymore. The guards shoved him toward one of the buildings, which an enormous, bejewelled door. As Papyrus glanced upwards, he realized it was a palace. It was enormous, completely white except for the golden domes on the top of the towers. Once he would’ve thought it beautiful, but he just didn’t care right now. His soul seemed heavy in his ribcage as he walked, going wherever they wanted him to. What did beauty matter when his tribe was dead and captured, his brother taken prisoner, and his other brother was missing?

The linens of his long clothing swished around his legs as the breeze swept inside through the open door. A hot wind, much like the ones in the desert. Nevertheless, it was completely different. In the desert, the wind never stopped whining. There was nothing to stop it except the occasional sand dune. In here, however, there was only one small wind inside the walls and it quickly died. Papyrus had never liked being inside. Even the houses in Dhurinelle were too restrictive, despite their big windows and lack of doors. This, walls covered in colourful fabrics but no windows, a ceiling painted gold instead of being designed reflect as much sunlight as possible, felt like an exquisite prison. Which, Papyrus thought as he held in a hysteric laugh, probably was exactly what it was going to be. He couldn’t see another reason as to why he was here.

He was led into a room, much brighter than the others. The air was humid, and weirdly chilly. Wide-eyed, Papyrus studied it. The ceiling was painted in pastels, held up by enormous, decorated pillars, and the walls were their natural white colour. In the middle of the room, a huge pool took up most of the floor-surface. Three women immediately came up to them, and without a word one of them grabbed his wrist and began to drag him toward a smaller pool in the corner.

The guards didn’t say a word, and only stayed by the door. They simply allowed them to take him. Neither Papyrus protested. There was no use. Not until they suddenly began sliding his robes of his shoulders, at least.

Spluttering, Papyrus grabbed the shoulder strap, firmly holding it in place. “What are you doing?”

One of the women gave him an annoyed glare, but he shook his head firmly. His bare body wasn’t for anyone who wasn’t family to see. That simply wasn’t how things were done. _Especially_ since these women weren’t even Dhurinei. Being bare-headed was uncomfortable enough, but he hadn’t thought to grab his headwear before he and Slim had left the tent. His soul pulsed painfully at the reminder, but he ignored it, holding her gaze.

“Be reasonable,” another of them eventually sighed. Her Dhur was heavily accented. He stared at her, unsure exactly _how_ he was being unreasonable. “You simply can’t look like a barbarian when standing before His Majesty. All covered in sand and dressed in _that_.”

“Excuse me?” Papyrus replied, feeling offended. How rude. The Dhurinei certainly weren’t barbarians. They weren’t the ones who’d slaughtered a tribe of merchants without warning, grinning while they did it. And his robes were of good quality. As high as was reasonable to wear while travelling. Then he froze, realizing what she’d said. “His Majesty?”

He felt his hands beginning to tremble at the prospect of seeing that man again. Please no. The speed of his soul quickened, and he bit down, hard. _No_. The woman sighed again. “His Majesty wants to see you, yes. Now let us bathe you so you’re respectable when he calls you.”

At the revelation that he wouldn’t be able to get out of this, Papyrus couldn’t find it in him to protest anymore. He was going to be put before the man who’d slaughtered his tribe. Chained his fiancé. Kicked his brother. Killed the tribe’s _children_.

Allowing them to undress him, he stared at the wall, seeing nothing. His breathing shallowed. Without a word, he let himself being led into the water and sat down. It was a pleasant temperature, he noted. Just above body heat. His breathing slowly mellowed out again as the women began to scrub his body with surprising gentleness. They seemed determined to get rid of every sand corn in every joint.

Against his will, Papyrus felt himself relax beneath the administrations. His eyelids became heavy, and he yawned. Stars. He hadn’t slept for days, uneasy slumbers excluded. They dropped…

_Blood. Screams. Papyrus stood frozen, unable to move even a phalange. His body was too heavy. In front of him, he could see Sans, Slim, Undyne. Red and Fell. Gerson, Grillby, they were all here. They were all bleeding, huge gashes covering them, and more quickly appeared. A sword flashed in the sunlight as it was wielded, as it hurt. Before them, a skeleton stood. A skeleton wearing the face of the king. The king’s hands were covered in blood, and he grinned as he hurt them. Hurt Papyrus’ loved ones. His breathing became heavier, his soul pounded in his chest. He couldn’t_ do _anything, he could_ move _, he could just_ watch-

Someone shook him gently. With a gasp, he opened his eyes, feeling himself starting to tremble. His soul was pounding against his ribs, just as hard as it had in the dream. The third woman met his eyes, her gaze filled with concern. No one spoke a word. However, the woman who’d glared at him before knelt behind him, beginning to massage his shoulders. As she did, she breathed calmly and loudly. Grateful, Papyrus did his best to imitate her.

Once his breathing was under control, and it no longer felt like his ribcage would break, he realized the water had cooled. One of them gave him a sign to climb up. Feeling his cheeks grow a little orange, he obeyed. Displaying his body like this was uncomfortable, no matter how indifferent the women seemed. One of them was suddenly holding up a beautiful robe, made of red fabric with golden embroideries. She looked at him as though she was asking for permission, and he nodded pitifully. It was quite exquisite, but he didn’t like what it implied.

His entire body screamed in discomfort as they swept him into the smooth fabric. Swallowing, he held out his arms as they tied it around his waist. In that very moment, the doors slid open almost soundlessly. Another skeleton stepped in, their sandals giving away a soft clicking against the floor. Immediately, the women fell to their knees, bowing deeply. Papyrus only stared. They – he, the light blue robes were tied the style of a man – was short, to say the least. That was the first thing he noticed. Second was the golden bonds around his wrists and neck, which rattled as he moved.

The newcomer smiled brightly at Papyrus, immediately making his way up to him. The smile was kind, yet Papyrus felt dread rise. Starting in his very innermost being, all the way out to his fingertips, the dread spread. He didn’t move as they studied him. Neither did he stop staring. Then, the other’s smile turned into a grin and he seemed pleased.

“Greetings,” he said in fluent Dhur, giving Papyrus an almost amused gaze. “I am Crown Prince Blue. You may call me ‘Your Highness’, as I assume you Dhurinei wouldn’t know how to speak to royalty. And I must say, I am pleasantly surprised. My brother said you were pretty, but I hadn’t thought a barbarian could actually fit that description. Yet, it seems he was right.”

Fury rose in Papyrus at hearing someone speak about his people like that. No matter how pleasant Blue’s voice was, or how much he seemed to believe he was complimenting him, this was outrageous. However, what Blue said next made him forget his anger. His entire body turned cold at the words.

“I think you will make an excellent queen.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just like when I wrote _On a Never Resting Sea_ , I will be trying to keep a regular schedule of updates on Saturdays from now on. So now you know that. If nothing gets in the way, updates will be on Saturdays.

The word rang in his head. Queen. Even beginning to comprehend it felt too much. Papyrus didn’t _want_ to understand. With his mouth half-open, he stared down at the crown prince. His soul had stopped beating for a second when he heard what the other said. Queen. As in the king’s spouse. As in the spouse of his tribe’s murderer. Swallowing deeply, Papyrus tried to say something. Anything. Yet, as Blue smiled blithely at him, he couldn’t get a word out. Behind him, the women were still kneeling. None of them had moved an inch, and Blue did not seem as though he was about to tell them to rise anytime soon.

“Queen?” he eventually managed to croak, and the other’s smile seemed to widen even more. The room was completely silent except for the constant dropping somewhere behind them. By the door, the guards had been standing in attention ever since Blue arrived.

“Yes, queen,” Blue confirmed, moving his hands to behind his back. He gazed up at Papyrus. Papyrus didn’t move. “My brother has been looking for a spouse for a while now, but have found no one to his liking. Until now. I hope you’re honoured – you’re going to get to carry the future ruler of our realm!”

Unable to help himself, Papyrus flinched. He could feel his entire body starting to tremble as he stared at the prince. Normally, he’d try talking his way out of it, but there was no use. There’d be no use. These people were mass-murderers. And- he didn’t even manage to finish the thought. The longer he stood silent, the more strained Blue’s smile became. First it was almost unnoticeable, but then an edge really started to appear. Swallowing, Papyrus forced out, voice faint, “Yes, Your Highness. Honoured.”

At the words, the other’s smile returned as quickly as a sandstorm. Blue beamed at him. “Good! I’m sure you will make my brother very happy! Being king is hard work, you know. He needs a lovely spouse like you to look after him.”

Papyrus nodded weakly, and Blue quickly glanced over at the women. “You. Servants. Make sure he’s presentable within an hour. He needs to be perfect for my brother. Oh, and do instruct him on some basic manners.”

“Of course, my lord,” came the murmured reply, sounding almost reverent. They had yet to move. Giving Papyrus another bright smile, Blue nodded and turned around. Soon, the doors closed behind him, and as soon as they had, Papyrus sank to the floor.

For a few seconds, he felt numb. Queen. They were going to make him marry a child killer. They were going to make him bear _his_ children. Then, it was like a dam broke. He started violently sobbing, his body shaking violently. Gasping for air, he hid his face in his arms and screamed. In that scream was all the fear he’d been feeling since he’d stopped crying the last time. There was all the sorrow he still felt. There was that he was in a foreign country with foreign people who all believed his own people to be lesser.

Most of all, however, he screamed over what awaited him.

Eventually, a gentle hand was placed on his shoulder. Papyrus hardly felt it, but allowed himself to be led away to a chair, where one of the women dabbed away the tears with a moist cloth. She smiled softly as another of them took out the makeup brushes.

* * *

Being escorted through the palace was horrible. Hunching his back, Papyrus crossed his arms over his chest. Tried to get a sense of protection. It didn’t work especially well. Around him, guards walked. The women had stayed behind, much to his discomfort. They were the only ones who’d showed him any sort of kindness. Now, he was dressed in the most exquisite robes. Warm red with golden embroideries, and many thin layers. His face was painted in black and gold, and he could still feel the moist brushes on his face.

When the women had shown him, he had been forced to admit he was beautiful. More beautiful than ever, even. Papyrus hated it. Hated that he had been dressed up like a doll for the king. The only thing on his body that felt like _his_ anymore was the engagement bracelet around his wrist. That was the only thing he’d refused to take off, and they hadn’t insisted. He didn’t think they knew what it was. The thin chain of braided gold had been one of Red’s last gifts to him. They’d only been engaged for three weeks before- before-

Heaving a silent sob, Papyrus stared at the wall. He’d been warned of crying before the king. Not that it was necessary; he understood himself that that would be a bad idea. Instead he studied the walls. Tried to distract himself. The palace was gorgeous, there was no denying it. Carved and painted stone in the most brilliant colours and patterns, windows painted to show scenarios from the realm’s history. Pillars were everywhere, both to keep the ceiling up and as decoration. It was like Dhurinelle’s palace, but much more taken care of. After all, there were only people inhabiting Dhurinelle’s palace a few days every century or so, during the tribe meetings.

He almost flinched at the thought. Tears welled up in his eyes. There’d be a tribe meeting next year. He and Red had been supposed to get married during it, for extra blessings. Swallowing, he did flinch as someone grabbed his arm. Twisting his head to the side, he found himself staring into a guard’s eyes. They were standing in front of an enormous golden door.

“We’re here,” was all the guard said. Papyrus nodded quickly, making sure no tears had fallen. He didn’t think the makeup was waterproof. At least not before it had dried, and it still felt moist. The doors slid open soundlessly, and Papyrus stared.

An enormous hall revealed itself for him. The floor was covered in colourful patterns, the walls had stone balconies. They were covered with the most magnificent stone carvings. For a moment, Papyrus forgot all his sorrows. He was breathless. Along the floors, what must be hundreds of courtiers were standing, in colourful robes and dresses. And in the front, on a levelled platform rose above the humans and monsters beneath it. An enormous fabric of warmest orange hung down above the stairs leading to it, parting for the entrance. In the middle of it, a beautiful throne, on which a skeleton in robes the same colour as the fabric, almost sagging beneath the weight of the golden jewellery he was wearing, sat. The king.

As they made momentary eye contact, and the king smiled, Papyrus remembered everything. His body screamed at him to run, and yet he took a tentative step forward. Only because he knew that if he tried to flee, he would be dragged to the throne instead. Every eye in the hall was on him as he walked. It was completely silent, and his footsteps echoed between the stone walls.

Once he reached the front of the room, just beneath the staircase, he fell to his knees. His entire body burned in humiliation as he pressed his forehead to the floor. Dhurinei didn’t bow their backs for anyone but their goddess. They didn’t surrender. Especially not to _foreigners_. Yet that was exactly what he was doing. It was a disgrace. Papyrus’ cheeks burned furiously as he gritted his teeth, grateful no one could see his face.

Everything was silent for a few seconds. Then the king’s smug voice came, “Now, now, honoured guest. Sit up and let me look at you.”

Forcing the anger off his face, Papyrus straightened his back. He smiled thinly at the king, who was leaning at one of the throne’s armrests. His eyes travelled over Papyrus’ body. Holding in a shudder, Papyrus’ eyes darted to the side. On the right side of the throne, on a pillow, Blue was kneeling. His hands were folded in his lap, and when he caught Papyrus’ eye he smiled brightly. Welcoming. Frowning lightly, Papyrus broke the eye contact.

When he turned back to the king, the king was still grinning. His jaw was resting on his closed fist. Without warning, he stood up. Papyrus couldn’t help but flinch as he did. Nonetheless, he stayed where he was as the king slowly strolled down the staircase. His robes elegantly trailed behind him. Ring-clothed fingers caressed Papyrus’ cheek gently. The metal was cold against the bone, a few jewels scratching him. Yet he didn’t move. Suddenly, he found his face being tilted upwards, and himself staring into orange-glowing eyes.

“I was right. Such a pretty face.” the king murmured. Papyrus’ neck was straining from holding his head turned up, but he didn’t move. Desperately, he searched for something less terrible in the other’s face. He couldn’t be _thoroughly_ terrible, could he? His soul fluttered anxiously. There _were_ softer things on the other’s face. Marks that might’ve come from laughing or smiling. It was something of a relief to find, to Papyrus, yet he knew it wasn’t enough. His entire body was still burning with dislike, _hatred_ , for this man. Then, the king stopped in his tracks. He hit his own head lightly, rolling his eyes.

“How rude of me. We have not been introduced.” The king’s bracelets jangled as he moved his hand to rest over his soul. “I am King Rus Al-Hamidi of Syrali. And I don’t think I caught your name?”

“Papyrus of tribe Aasir,” he replied, swallowing, and copying the gesture. “Your Majesty.”

“Well then, Papyrus of _tribe Aasir_ ,” Rus said, waving his hand lazily. His tone had a hint of mocking as he used the name of the tribe. Papyrus gritted his teeth. Within seconds a man in similar robes to the women before stood by his side, holding up a small golden box. He stuck his hands in it, fishing up a web intricate gold chains. In the middle of it, a single orange jewel rested. “Marry me.”

It wasn’t a question. Papyrus knew that clearer than he’d ever known anything before. More than he knew Sans’ love of puns, more than he knew Red’s love. His eyes flickered to the side for the fraction of a second. Toward Blue, who was smiling brightly. Toward the crowd, who all had expressions of polite excitement on their faces. Then back to Rus. His soul was pounding in his chest as their eyes met.

Feeling his hands begin to tremble, Papyrus pressed them toward the cold stone floor. Swallowing, he replied, clearly for everyone in the hall to hear, “It would be my honour, Your Majesty.”

As Rus fastened the necklace around his spine, Blue squealed.

* * *

The wedding preparations went far quicker than Papyrus had thought. For two nights ahead, he was given a beautiful suit to live in. It was grand, with a bedchamber, a parlour, and a small dining room. The three women, who on his insistence had revealed their names to be Amani, Karyme, and Sabah, were the only people he met during these days. They didn’t speak much, but were kind. Sometimes, he caught them giving him sympathetic glances.

There were two things that took up most of his time; being prepared for his wedding and marriage, and worrying about his brothers and the surviving tribe-members. For his wedding, Amani taught him the ceremonies, which were surprisingly familiar to the Dhurinei’s, and what to expect. Karyme went through what would happen once he was married, and he feared it. Papyrus could feel his palms starting to sweat at the mere thought of what was coming.

He dreamt nightmares. Terrible dreams about screaming and death and his family. About the desert sun turning red, the world turning red, drenched in the blood of his tribe. All the while, those faces watched, grinning, laughing. Forced him to watch as everyone he’d ever loved was killed. Stretch. Blue. All the faces he’d seen in the throne room. The guards. The soldiers.

Papyrus always woke up screaming. Hyperventilating, tears running down his cheeks, he would hide his face in the blue silk covers, sobbing as the woman on night-duty poured him a glass of water.

“Scream,” Amani said when it had been her turn. She was the most talkative of them. “Once you’re in His Majesty’s bed you can’t anymore.”

He would obediently drink the water once he’d stopped shaking. He’d keep his mouth shut, without breathing a word of what he’d dreamt, and they didn’t ask.

Then, his wedding day arrived. Woken at dawn, he was ushered into the bathhouse and the women spent hours scrubbing his bones and anointing him in scented oils. While their treatment of him wasn’t bad, Papyrus detested every second. It felt like he was a prized mare up for selling rather than a groom. Even more, he detested the necklace. It never left his neck, not even in the bath. When he’d tried to remove it, he’d been thoroughly scolded. Like a child.

Once he was finally allowed out of the bath, he was taken back into his bedroom. Standing completely still as they swept him into layers upon layers of precious fabrics, Papyrus felt his soul pound in his chest. Once all the clothing was on, they begun decorating him with jewellery. The weight of the bracelets they slipped on his wrists and the gold threads carrying jewels around his neck made him sag for a moment before he regained his balance. Never in his life had he imagined himself in such riches. Finally, they placed a headscarf on the top of his head, fastening it with intricate gold chains.

And yet, none of them tried to remove the thin engagement bracelet. Papyrus was infinitely grateful for that small mercy. He didn’t know what he would’ve done, had he been forced to part with it. Glancing out the great, painted window as Sabah went to get the makeup, Papyrus noticed the Sun stood high. He stared at Her, sending away a quick prayer, begging Her to help him. If She ever loved the Aasir, _help him_. A single tear dripped down his cheek, tickling it.

Without a word, Sabah dried it away with a soft cloth before she tilted his face upwards. He closed his eyes, and the brushes were set to work.

* * *

Papyrus was shaking. The bracelets around his wrists rattled violently, and he folded his hands in his lap, clenching them hard. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. The words repeated in his head like a mantra, and he did his best to follow. The women were making last-minute corrections to his outfit. Outside the window, the sun had reached its zenith, and afternoon had come. The ceremony would soon begin.

“Smile,” Amani told him, voice gentle. “It’s your wedding day.”

He stared at her in bewilderment, hardly comprehending what she just had said. _Smile_. Like it was that easy. Karyme nodded in agreement. “You’re going to be our queen. It is a great honour which have been bestowed upon you. Everyone in this realm would love to take your place.”

For a moment, it felt like his soul had stopped beating. His mouth felt dry, and it felt like she’d hit him. _Let them_. Slowly, he nodded, forcing himself to smile brightly. Then, it knocked on the door, and in stepped his entourage. Normally, it would’ve been his family who had both prepared him and come to take him to the ceremony, but since they weren’t here- he took a shaky breath- it was instead courtiers. Papyrus stood up, stepping forward. As he did, the beautiful cape trailed behind.

Squaring his shoulders, he held his head tight as he walked through the hallways of the castle. Everywhere, people were celebrating. The hallways and the garden was full of people playing music and dancing, cheering as they saw him. He kept his mouth curled into a smile. The atmosphere was joyous, full of life, and his soul felt heavy. His jewellery jingled melodically when he moved, and many in the crowd yelled as they saw him. Their words were strange, incomprehensible, but their voices were cheerful as they twirled and sang. Skirts and robes swung around them like colourful wings.

Soon, they reached an enormous door, this one made of polished wood. Papyrus took a deep breath, preparing himself. Now then. Time for the Giving. He felt almost numb as he walked into the room, still surrounded by courtiers. One of them offered her hand, and Papyrus took it. Following her in, he was once again surrounded by dancers and singers, these dressed in more gold and jewels than the ones before. In the front of the room stood the royal brothers.

The king was adorned in white robes banded with orange, and an orange headscarf. As always, he was adorned in gold and jewels. The crown prince wore darker blue, less intricate, robes. Their smiles widened as they saw him. Rus’ smile was satisfied, there was no other way to describe it, as they faced each other. Blue took his brother’s hand, just like the courtier was holding Papyrus’, and they were guided together. He suppressed a shudder as their fingers intertwined. Silence fell over the room, the dancing and music immediately stopping.

Now the wedding had officially begun.

Rus led him toward the end of the room, where a double-seated couch stood on a small platform. It was made of gold, with white cushions. In the back of his mind, Papyrus noted on just how much here appeared to be pure gold. What a waste. The thought didn’t linger for long, however, as they both took their seats, their hands never letting go off each other. He sank into the soft cushion, and in that moment the guests all raised the crystal glasses filled with fruit juice they’d been holding.

They declared something in the foreign language, and drank. Drank for the health of the couple, for their future happiness. The solemn atmosphere grew stronger as a woman in the sunniest yellow walked up on the platform. A priestess. She spoke, and the king nodded meanwhile. There was a smug tilt on his smile. Papyrus resisted the urge to squeeze his hands hard, instead just continuing to stare straight forward at nothing. Just smile.

Eventually, she stopped talking. She knelt before him, reaching up around his neck. Papyrus’ soul was beating hard. Gently, she unclipped the necklace’s clasp, and removed it. He almost gasped as the weight disappeared. He hadn’t realized how heavy it was until it was gone. A servant came, kneeling, and held up a box. Feeling himself starting to tremble, Papyrus allowed her to manoeuvre his robes out of the way, baring his collarbone.

“Breathe, dearest,” the king whispered, squeezing his hand. The words were concerned, but his voice betrayed his amusement. Even more did the smile on his face witness of anticipation.

Swallowing as the priestess picked up a needle from the box, Papyrus forced himself to smile at the king. Taking Blue’s subtle warning into consideration – if that had been what it was, he wasn’t sure – it was best to play along. The needle was pressed to his collarbone, and he gasped for air as it dug into it. Pain flashed through his body, making him see white, as she worked. First digging the needle into the bone, the filling the hole up with colourful ink. Once the needle was removed, the symbols for _Married_ and _Queen_ tattooed into his collarbone, he sank into the couch. He was handed a glass with clear, red juice, and he took it even as his arm ached when he moved it.

Once it was empty, he forced himself to straighten. Wedding tattoos were a tradition among his people as well, but it had never been this way. In the desert, it happened after the wedding. With enough preparation, and rest afterwards. Now, however, the priestess said another few words in the language of this realm, and Rus – his husband – took his face in his hands.

The expression on the king’s face as their teeth pressed against each other was triumphant, and Papyrus resisted the urge to whimper. The music begun to play again, and cheering rose among the crowd as they resumed their dancing.

* * *

Hours later, followed by an enormous entourage, they walked side by side through the palace halls. Papyrus was exhausted, his collarbone still burning. Just a step beside them, on the king’s right side, walked Blue. Papyrus was on his left. Blue chatted happily about the wedding, and how he was so happy his brother had finally found a spouse.

“Yes, finally you can stop bugging me about it, huh?” Rus asked his brother. Papyrus couldn’t help but stare at him. The king’s voice was playful, teasing. He only listened at the brothers’ bantering, silent, as they made their ways through the hallways. Outside, dusk had arrived. The Sun had disappeared behind the horizon.

They reached a door with a similar symbol to the one on Papyrus’ collarbone painted on. Ushers opened it, revealing it to be incredibly thick. He could’ve placed his hand sideways on it, and it still wouldn’t have reached from the outside to inside. The entourage stopped there, and as Rus had led him inside the doors closed behind them. Papyrus’ eyes caught on an enormous bed standing in the centre of the room, adorned with a blood red canopy. His soul pounded in his chest as Rus led him toward it. He knew exactly what was coming, and how little he could do to stop it.

Papyrus felt like crying when Rus turned to him with a lewd grin on his face. “I heard you have nightmares, precious. Let’s see if we can fix that.”

His breathing turned into gasps, and he shook his head, recoiling. A flicker of magic in his eye, as an unconscious warning. The door met his back, and he pressed up against it. The grin on the king’s face fell, yet he continued to shake his head. “No, no, please, no.”

The playful expression on the other’s face was gone. With two quick steps, he stood before Papyrus, far too close. Papyrus swallowed, staring into his eyes, just a few centimetres beneath his. Orange flickered in there, threatening. _Goddess_. If the other wanted to hurt him, he wouldn’t stand a chance. He wasn’t a warrior. With one hand, he grabbed both Papyrus’ wrists, forcing them together.

“Listen here, _precious_ ,” the king said, voice soft. He squeezed his wrists harder, enough for it to hurt. Papyrus gasped, gazing down at him fearfully. “You’re my husband, and I am your king. You’re going to do what I tell you, and I will be kind, alright? If you misbehave, however, it’s not only you who will regret it.”

His brothers. The thought flashed through Papyrus’ mind. There were only three skeletons in the tribe after their parents had died, it wasn’t hard to figure out that they were family. Exhaling, Papyrus’ nodded weakly. He couldn’t let his brothers get hurt.

The grin returned to the king’s face fast as lightening. Papyrus’ wrists were released, and he resisted the urge to rub them. Instead he limply followed the king to the bed, allowing himself to be pressed down on it. He wanted to run, to hide, to never come out. Nonetheless, he did nothing but allowing himself to be manhandled as the king slid the jewellery of his wrists. And when the king told him “Smile. I’m going to make you feel wonderful,” he did.

He smiled, and allowed himself to be kissed again. Even as his soul felt like it was going to break his ribcage from the inside, he smiled, and the king seemed pleased, slipping the robes off Papyrus’ body.

Just smile. It was all for his brothers’ sake. Just smile. It became a mantra repeating in his head as his husband began exploring his body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The other day I found a story I wrote when I was... thirteen? fourteen? and before that I've been believing that my liking for the darker aspects of fiction came from fandom. Apparently not. I've always been like this.
> 
> Also, keep in mind that if Pap seems a little out of character, he has been raised _very_ differently than Papyrus of Snowdin.
> 
> EDIT: I did some changes to the end of the chapter. Rewrote the end entirely, in fact. I think it's much better now.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I rewrote the end of last chapter, after _“I heard you have nightmares, precious. Let’s see if we can fix that.”_ , so you might want to go read that before continuing with this chapter

A cat. That was the first thing Papyrus saw as he opened his eyes. His eyelids still felt stiff from the tears he’d shed, but he didn’t think of that. Too mesmerised by the cat’s grey eyes which stared straight at him. It sat on the bedtable. Its fur was grey as well. That was all he could process before he had to blink, breaking the eye contact. When he did, the cat shook its body and jumped over him, landing on the king’s side. Rus twitched, and Papyrus suddenly was reminded of the arms embracing him from behind.

It was a familiar feeling. He and his brothers used to do this during cold desert nights. Yet so very different, with naked bone pressing against naked bone. He wanted to vomit. A chuckle came from behind him, the king apparently having woken up. Papyrus stayed still, kept his breathing slow. Closed his eyes and pretended he was still asleep.

“Hello, Ivory,” Rus’ voice came, weirdly gentle. It was hard to wrap his mind around the fact that someone who so gleefully had slaughtered his tribe could sound so soft. So _normal_ , so _kind_. It was disturbing. The cat meowed, and started to purr. The king said something else, but in his own language. The word for _hello_ was the same in Dhur and whatever they spoke here, but Papyrus couldn’t understand a word of the rest. The cat let out anther meow, and the king chuckled again. Then, a hand on Papyrus’ bare side. It caressed a rib lightly. The cover had slipped down to his hips. Flinching, he opened his eyes again.

“Good morning, precious,” Rus purred, tugging at his rib. Very gently. It would’ve almost been comfortable, hadn’t he been able to feel the other’s hands all over his body. All over his body, inside it, touching- His breathing became laboured. He didn’t move. A harder tug came, and when he didn’t again, the last tug _hurt_. Gasping in pain, Papyrus finally rolled over. Facing the other. His soul stopped dead when their eyes met.

The other was smiling. Not a warning smile, this time, either. A warm one. It threw him completely off track. For a moment, Papyrus just gaped. By the Sun, what- Rus placed a hand on his cheek, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to his forehead. Despite his shock, he managed to keep himself from cringing away. The memories were still fresh from what had happened when he backed away the day before. Suddenly, the cat meowed again, making Rus laugh.

He sat up in the bed, and the cat sat down in his lap. Papyrus watched, speechless, as the king ran a finger down the cat’s head and booped its nose. Then, he looked at him. Papyrus felt sick in his stomach at having the other’s eyes on him. “Meet Ivory, precious.”

“He-hello, Ivory,” Papyrus stuttered out once it became clear that was what the king expected of him. The king’s smile grew, and he suddenly lifted the cat of his chest, placing it on Papyrus’ ribcage instead. Throwing his legs over the edge of the bed, he stretched before standing. Papyrus quickly averted his eyes from the bare bones, memories screaming inside his mind. Especially as he got a glance of orange at the other’s pelvis.

“Well, I have duties to attend to,” Rus said, walking around the bed. He leaned over Papyrus, putting his hands on each side of him. Papyrus sank deeper into the bed. The other’s gaze was near predatory as his eyes travelled over his exposed upper body. “A shame, almost. I wouldn’t mind a repeat of yesterday. Then again, there’s always tonight.”

A flash of panic. Papyrus clenched his hands, focusing only on keeping his breathing steady. _Please no_. Suddenly the expression on the other’s face turned into something else completely. It was a mix between a smirk and an expression which looked almost… wishful. The king stroked Papyrus’ ribs, causing the cat to jump down on the floor. Claws scraped against the floor as it carelessly made its way toward a couch standing by the wall. Papyrus envied it.

“I do wonder how long it’ll take until I get my heir,” he mumbled, before letting out a quiet laugh. “Not too long, I expect. We will just have to keep trying, won’t we?”

Since he didn’t seem to be expecting a reply, Papyrus gritted his teeth. It took all his will of strength not to roll straight of the bed just to get away from the hand. Heirs. Children. He couldn’t bear this man’s children, he _couldn’t_. His soul pounded in his chest, and he clenched his hands harder. His phalanges dug into his palms, hard enough to hurt. Then, Rus straightened again. He grabbed a small bell standing on the bedtable, ringing it. A melodic tone came, and less than five seconds later, four servants were standing in the door. They bowed deeply before quietly setting to work with dressing the king.

Papyrus heaved himself up on his elbows, but kept staring at the silk covers covering his body pelvis and down. The word was still ringing in his head. _Heirs_. Once his husband – the world still tasted sour in his mouth, even as he’d never said it – was dressed, he began to leave. Papyrus swallowed, looking up at him.

“My lord?” he asked, as he’d been told he was supposed to. What was _wrong_ with this people, demanding of him to call the man he was married to by title? Rus stopped, turning around with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes, precious?”

Goddess, he was beginning to hate that word more than anything. Ignoring the way his hands were beginning to tremble, Papyrus continued, “My brothers. Can you- please, I just want to know they’re alright. And the other survivors.”

The king seemed to consider it for a second. Then he nodded shortly, smirking. The necklaces around his neck jumped when he moved. “They are alive. They will stay so, if you don’t give me a reason to change that fact. As for your tribe… I think we can say the same applies to them. Is that a satisfying answer?”

Of course not. Papyrus’ stomach ached at the vagueness. But at least they were alive- if he wasn’t being lied to. He had no way of knowing that. Feeling tears gather in his eyes, he nodded. “Thank you, my lord.”

“You’re welcome, precious. Get some rest, now. Soon your lessons will begin.” Rus let out a laugh. “After all, the bearer of my children can’t be such a barbarian – although some of it can’t be helped. I assume you Dhurinei are just born with it.”

When he received no reply, Rus simply left. One of the servants stayed behind, starting to clean up the makeup. Papyrus attempted to smile at them, but received nothing but a bow and an uninterested gaze, so he turned around, hiding his face in the soft pillows. Heh. He’d never used a real pillow before. The tribe used rolled-up extra blankets. It was comfortable. Papyrus didn’t cry. Not even when his entire body ached from unshed tears and sobs that wanted out. He could still feel the hands over his body. The tongue, the- he shuddered, unable to finish the thought. He felt filthy. Used.

Suddenly, a weight appeared on his legs. He glanced up from the pillow, and there, Ivory sat, staring at him. He let out a sudden laugh, causing the cat to startle. Reaching out a hand, he let it smell him, and when it had it pressed its head against his closed fist. Papyrus smiled. It was a small smile, weak, but it was there. The cat purred when he petted its head.

He couldn’t let himself be broken. His brothers needed him. His _tribe_ needed him.

A while later, it knocked on the door. Ivory was lying curled up at his ribcage, and he was slowly petting the short, soft fur. It was soothing. The door slid open, and the three women from earlier stepped in, all bowing deeply in the door. Right. He was their queen now. An idea started to form, and he let his fingers sweep over his ribcage. Over the area where a baby would be. Or rather, on the off chance everything went well, it _wouldn’t_.

When he sat up, Ivory let out an offended hiss as it jumped of his chest. Inhaling deeply, he smiled and asked, “Can you bring me Saffiri tea? It is very good for fertility.”

He held his breath as he waited for a response. If they saw through it- he honestly had no idea what would happen. Perhaps nothing. Perhaps they’d tell the king. The moments stretched out forever, the silence felt heavy. Yet, few seconds had passed when Karyme bowed again.

“As Your Majesty wishes,” she murmured. Her voice made him startle. It was almost the same reverent tone that had been used when they were speaking to Blue. Before he had the chance to process, she left. Her sandal-clothed steps echoed through the hallways, into the bedchamber, until Sabah closed the door.

The remaining two came up to him, but didn’t touch. Instead they just stood patiently by the bedside until Papyrus sighed and slid out of the luxurious bed. Immediately, he was swept into robes and led toward what he assumed was the king’s private bathhouse. Once he was in the cold pool, he was more enthusiastic of bathing than ever before. Scrub away the lingering feeling of Rus’ touch on his bones, and anything that was still there from the night before. It hurt, and yet he didn’t stop scrubbing. He wanted it _gone_.

Eventually, he felt a hand grab his arm. It was gentle, but resolute. Papyrus twisted around to stare at whoever it was, realizing his eyes were teary. Amani looked worried, and he grinned wetly before wiping away the tears. Neither of them spoke, however, and he forced himself to lean back and let them do their job. Just then, Karyme reappeared, carrying a kettle with tea.

After they’d poured it up in a cup to him, he took it with a thankful smile. Not waiting until it had cooled down, Papyrus downed half the cup. It burned like midday sand in his mouth, making him fight not to spit it out, but he swallowed. Once the cup was empty, felt his face straining to grin. He held it in. He did not trust these women, no matter how kind they’d been.

Perhaps he couldn’t escape this hell. But by the _Goddess_ was he not going to give birth to this abomination of a kingdom’s next tyrant. He would make sure of that.

…

“Good afternoon, new brother,” Blue greeted as he strolled inside the library. Papyrus looked up from the books Sabah had given him. Books he couldn’t read, for they were not in his language, but they had pictures. Ones he’d rather not watch, admittedly, but apparently this was the first part of his training to a proper queen. At least according to Amani.

It was a history book, depicting won battles of this small kingdom. For it was small. He’d been shown a geography book, and the land this realm covered was smaller than Dhurinelle. How they kept winning was beyond him.

The moment Blue came into the room, there was three thumps as the women practically threw themselves to the floor. Papyrus didn’t move. Unless he had no other choice, he wouldn’t bow. It would be an affront against his ancestors to do so. His silent defiance only seemed to amuse the other, bringing a smile to his face.

“I hope you enjoyed your tea,” the crown prince continued, sitting down in the divan opposite to Papyrus. “I’m glad you’re taking your duties seriously.”

Papyrus’ soul skipped a beat, and hesitantly, he asked, “My tea, Your Highness?”

“Oh yes, that Saffiri tea from this morning? That it-“ he pointed his thumb at Karyme, “-brought you. For fertility?”

It was a mix of horror and relief which rose in him at Blue’s words. Relief, because he didn’t know it was to prevent pregnancy, and horror, because Blue knew about it. Just like, now when he thought about it, Rus had mentioned his nightmares. Something only the women and him ought to know about. Blue chuckled at his confused expression.

“Oh, don’t look so surprised, silly,” he chirped. “I know of everything that happens within the palace walls. And in almost the entire country, actually. Need to make sure there’s no traitors running around, don’t we?”

That meant that whatever he did, whatever he said, would get back to the crown prince, didn’t it? Papyrus felt his soul sink in his soul. Despite the lightness of Blue’s voice, there was a certain edge in there. A warning, or a threat. Don’t act out.

“No, of course not,” he replied, voice faint. Neither of them spoke for a moment, and the women were still lying on the floor. Papyrus had no idea whether he had the authority to ask them to rise, so he didn’t. For now, it was better not to question Blue. Especially after such a warning. Instead he looked down at the book still in his lap. It was open, the foreign words seeming like a child’s imaginary language. Deciding to change the subject, he asked, “Your Highness, when will I be taught your language? If I’m going to spend the rest of my life here-“

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Blue interrupted him. He stood up before taking the few steps over to Papyrus and closing the book. It felt final, somehow. Like it ended a conversation which had hardly started. “You don’t need to bother with learning Syrash – everyone you need to speak with already know Dhur! Isn’t that nice?”

“Yeah.” Papyrus’ voice shook when he replied, and he stared at the closed book in his lap. The cover was of leather, with golden letters spelling out what he assumed was the title. It could also be the name of the author, though. Or something else. He had no way of knowing. “Very.”

“See?” Blue said, grabbing his face gently. Papyrus stared into those blue eyes, which almost looked innocent. Almost. “I know it’s hard to come to a new place, and a new culture. But I assure you, we will do everything we can to make you feel welcome, alright? All we expect in return is that you do your best to not be an embarrassment before the court. Seems fair?”

“Seems fair,” he agreed, not knowing what else to do.

“Good! Now, go make yourself prettier. You are going to be officially presented at court tonight.”

…

The waiting was terrifying. Dressed in thin, sunset blue robes and silver jewellery, Papyrus knelt on the floor. He held a cup of pomegranate juice between his hands, smutting on it. The cold drink calmed him down ever so slightly, but his soul was still pounding in his chest. Over him, Sabah was fixing the placement of the jewellery holding his headscarf in place. She was making sure everything was perfect.

Perfect for his husband, perfect for the court. This was something else than the wedding, he knew. This was where the court would decide what they thought of him. And while he didn’t care in the slightest about what these barbarians thought, there was no doubt the king would. What would happen if the king was displeased, Papyrus didn’t want to know.

Squeezing the cup hard, he finished it and put it on the floor. Immediately, Amani was there to pick it up. It was silent in here. Only sandals padding against the marble floor and the clinking of jewellery made any sounds at all. It felt like he was unable to breathe. Perhaps it was fear, but his throat felt too thick. Papyrus stared at the colourful walls, following the patterns. A distraction, from what was to come.

The doors were opened, two guards holding it open, and the king walked in. As every time Papyrus had seen him, his robes trailed behind him. They were multiple meters long. Probably the fabric got too dirty or torn to be worn again, after being on the floor all day. The king’s capes were for one-time use only.

Already sitting down, Papyrus bowed. The floor was cold against his forehead. After a few seconds, the king’s voice came, “Stand, my precious husband. We have a dinner to attend to.”

Swiftly rising to his feet, he forced himself to meet Rus’ eyes. They were gleaming orange. He seemed delighted. When he offered his arm to Papyrus, he took it. “You are beautiful.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Papyrus mumbled as resentment rose. _Beautiful_. That was the entire reason he was here, wasn’t it? Because he was _pretty_. Goddess curse his appearance, he would’ve been happier as the ugliest monster alive. He didn’t doubt it would’ve been better to have been killed than to be here. Yet, he couldn’t do anything about it. The Goddess did not approve of self-killers. Perhaps if he ruined his beauty, though, they would let him go? Throw him out? It was worth considering.

He was led through the castle halls, through long lines of kneeling monsters and humans. When they reached the dinner hall, also there everyone knelt, pressing their foreheads to the ground before them. Before their king, and their queen. At the short end of the long table, two sitting pillows lied on the floor. Papyrus allowed Rus to help him sit, before the king himself sat. ¨

On the right side of the table, on Rus’ side, Blue sat. The crown prince hit a spoon against a crystal glass, and the tune rang through the hall. The resonance was amazing. Everyone immediately looked their way.

Rus declared something in Syrash, loudly. Papyrus stared at air as he listened to the words he would never understand. The words he wasn’t allowed to learn. He could only recognize his name. Much to his relief, Rus then switched over to Dhur, probably repeating what he had earlier said; “I am honoured to have your company tonight. However, there is one thing I see as an even greater honour; to be able to present to you, my loyal subjects, my husband. Papyrus Al-Hamidi, Queen of Syrali.”

A hundred glasses were raised into the air, calling out a blessing for luck Papyrus recognized from his tribe’s travels. They had once been in Syrali, to buy silk which they could later sell at home. It had been the only time he’d ever left Dhurin before now. At the king’s glare at him, he smiled. It shook, holding a smile when you weren’t feeling it was exhausting, but it stayed. Papyrus waved awkwardly at the audience, only to find his wrist grabbed and roughly shoved back into his lap.

Holding in a yelp of pain, he whispered, “Sorry.”

Immediately, the strict expression on Rus’ face softened, and his thumb stroked the upper side of Papyrus’ hand. “Don’t worry, precious. I know you don’t understand how a civilized court works. I’m not angry.”

 _Very reassuring_ , Papyrus thought. Yet he smiled, forcing his face to look grateful. The food was served. Second only to the wedding dinner, he had never seen such a meal before. There was everything. The scent made his mouth water despite the worried ache in his stomach, and their glasses were filled with the most sparkling juices.

“So, My Queen,” the human sitting on his left side suddenly said. “It must be a relief to be here, mustn’t it? Away from that dreadful desert and its barbarians.”

“Excuse me?” Papyrus has spoken before he even could think about it. He straightened his back, hand clenching around the foot of his glass. With strained pleasantness, he continued, “I think you’re mistaken? Dhurin is a wonderful place. It’s endless widths of sand, all overseen by the Sun. You haven’t lived until you’ve seen a sunset after a sandstorm. To see the sky light up in red and pink and orange before night falls and the stars come out.”

With those last words, his voice got softer and softer. Tears filled his eyes, and he swallowed a couple times. The tears were still there. Would he ever see the desert again? See one of those sunsets? His breathing shallowed as he tried to keep himself from tearing up. Then pain flashed through him, and he gasped. Glancing down, he saw how Rus’ fingers had dug into his hip. They didn’t let up, and it took all his strength not to cry out in pain.  

Rus smiled at the human, squeezing even harder. “I think what my husband meant to say is that the desert is beautiful, but it’s much better here. Where we are _civilized_. Wasn’t it, precious?”

“Yes,” Papyrus gasped out, sagging in relief as the fingers let up. “Yes. That was what I meant.”

He leaned backwards, attempting to stretch his still hurting hip somewhat. As he did, he reached out his arms behind him. Something bumped into them, and there was a gasp, a clattering, and a yell. Frantic apologizing came from the servant now on all fours behind him, as Rus stared at the juice pitcher in his lap, staining his pink robes purple.

The entire hall went dead silent, except for the constant apologies. Rus was holding up his hands, seemingly in shock over what had just happened. Even Blue seemed horrified. Papyrus could hear his soul pound in his ears while he waited for a reaction. One second everything was still, and the next the king was on his feet, eyes blazing.

“ _You_ ,” he growled, pointing at the servant. They were lying pressed almost straight against the floor, never stopping their apologies. “ _Shut up_.”

They immediately stopped speaking, only a quiet whimper coming from them. Papyrus stared in terror. If he hadn’t moved like he had, if he had been more careful, this wouldn’t have happened. Rus snapped his fingers, two guards immediately appearing, tearing the servant from the ground. They were trembling as he stared at them.

“Take it to the du-“

“Wait!” Papyrus couldn’t watch anymore, jumping to his feet. “It was my fault, my lord, I accidentally tripped them, it wasn’t-“

He didn’t get a chance to finish. Rus grabbed his wrist, digging the tips of his phalanges into it, cutting him off. He felt himself beginning to shake beneath the pure rage in those eyes. Without a word to him, turned to his brother. His face suddenly became the quintessential of cold calm. It happened so fast it was scary. “Brother, I must change clothing. I trust you will deal with its punishment?”

Blue nodded once, seemingly calm. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

Without another word, Rus began to walk toward the exit. His grip on Papyrus’ wrist didn’t let up, and he was forced to follow. The servant was crying now, and he wanted to as well. Fear had made his soul freeze as he left with his enraged husband.

What had he _done_?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm starting to wonder if I should've kept tvis as a one-shot. I mean I do have a story, but the question is if it's interesting enough. Welp. Too late now, I suppose.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yay I'm not dead! I just lost all my inspiration for this fic, although two very sweet comments helped a bit. Here's the next part, finally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But that every-Saturday-schedule is dead, obviously. Sorry about that.

Once they reached their bedroom, Papyrus felt himself collide with the now closed door. Pain sparked up his tailbone, as he stared at his furious husband. His soul was in his throat, and before he could get a word out, something hit his cheek. Crying out, Papyrus raised a hand to the stinging bone. He touched it lightly. Rus had hit him. While it wasn’t a surprise that the other would, his mind didn’t seem to be able to wrap itself around it.

The king’s expression was worryingly calm, even as his eyes burned orange. There was nothing that suggested he was doing something worse than an intense party of chess. Nothing, Papyrus thought as a hand squeezed his throat, witnessing of the fear his body was screaming in. White flashed before his eyes, and he clawed on the hand, gasping. Without changing expression, Rus grabbed his hands and pressed them together.

“Please,” he whimpered. His entire body had frozen as he was pressed harder against the wall. Something like disgust flashed over Rus’ face, and Papyrus chipped for air as the hand clenched tighter. _Goddess_. His eyes widened, and he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t _breathe_ the king was going to _kill_ him he was going to _die_.

While he’d thought the thought just an hour before, that death would’ve been a blessing, he felt the panic get worse. His chest hurt at the thought, and he couldn’t help but trash. Kicking out with his foot, he felt it hit something as Rus gasped. For a second, the hand let up, and Papyrus heaved for air before it closed it off again. Another blow to his cheek, even harder this time, made him lose most of his breath again. Tears gathered in his eyes.

“ _Don’t_ ,” the king hissed. Nodding frantically, Papyrus attempted to apologize but he couldn’t get any words out. His mouth just opened and closed uselessly. Suddenly, the hand let up again and he dropped straight down on the floor. Now on his knees, he coughed before greedily inhaling as much as he could. His heavy breathing stopped, however, as Rus knelt before him. He gently tilted up Papyrus’ head so they were looking each other in the eyes. “Don’t _ever_ pull such a stunt again, precious. You are _not_ to question my authority, alright? Nor do I ever want to hear you talk like that about the desert. Understood?”

He nodded again, quickly. The adrenaline was still rushing through his bones, and he felt a sob rip its way up his throat. Papyrus croaked, “Yes my lord. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

With the last words, the sobs arrived. He was alive. He was _alive_. He didn’t know if he was crying from relief or disappointment. Arms softly embraced him, hiding his face in a stained robe, as his body shook from the force of it.

“Shhh, precious, I know,” his husband murmured, gentle again. “I’m sorry too, but you have to learn. It’s the only way. I’m sure you understand.”

It wasn’t a question, yet he was obviously expecting an answer. Papyrus chipped for air against the sweet-smelling robes, hating the arms holding him so softly. He _hated_ them, and he hated the part of him that didn’t want them to let go. That didn’t want to be alone. Between sobs, he forced out, “I do, my lord. I’m sorry.”

* * *

Which kind of dinner this was, Papyrus had no idea. When the women had dressed him, he hadn’t said a word. It was long since he’d attempted to have a say in what he was wearing. Staring at the wall, he allowed them to powder his face to cover the dark circles beneath his eyes.

Then they were finished, and a while later Blue came into the room. He was dressed differently than usual, in a full, royal blue robe and a silver robe over it. No jewellery, which Papyrus noted he didn’t wear either, except for the ever-present engagement bracelet. The women had never touched it.

Papyrus slid down from his pillows, kneeling before Blue. His chest felt numb at the action. It had lost all meaning. When he bowed his head, it rarely occurred to him anymore that he should consider it shameful. With a soft chuckle, Blue took his hand to help him rise. So he did. The other’s smile was patient, honest, as he carressed Papyrus’ hand with his thumb. The action was fond. A light smile tugged on Papyrus’ mouth. However much he detested the brothers, there was also a small piece of him which was grateful for Blue. He neither hurt him nor treated him with the distance the servants did. He felt more like a person around Blue than anytime else.

Blue’s other hand stroked his arm softly, before it stopped over his bracelet. When his fingers went to the lock, Papyrus couldn’t help but jerk his arm away. His soul skipped a beat, and he didn’t breathe as he stared down at the other, unable to say a word. Blue smiled up at him, expression compassionate.

“I know it’s hard, brother,” he said, grabbing Papyrus’ hand and holding it between both his. “But it’s been months. You can’t be happy here if you don’t let go of your past.”

His eyelights were soft. “I’ve been told you won’t even let your servants clean it. That’s not healthy. You’re married now.”

Without speaking, Papyrus nodded. If this was what Blue wanted, then it would happen no matter what he said. When his brother-in-law unclipped the bracelet, putting it into his pocket, it was like something broke in him. It had been his last link to his people, to Red. He couldn’t breathe. It was like something clogged up his throat. Tears sprung up in his eyes, and he just-

Before he could finish the though, Blue tiptoed. A gentle hand wiped away the tears. “You’re being very good. Now, come with me. My brother is waiting.”

At his exhort, Papyrus swallowed. His voice was almost hollow when he replied, “Thank you, Your Highness.”

Somehow, his most prominent feeling was now only relief that Blue and Rus hadn’t been angry over him wearing an engagement bracelet. That they’d known, but hadn’t taken it before.

* * *

Twice now, Papyrus had walked into their shared bedroom to be met with the sight of someone else in their bed. In their bed, with his husband on top of them. Honestly, it had been a relief. At least until he found out it didn’t lessen Rus’ interest in taking him to bed as well, a few hours later. So he just didn’t care. Not even the unfairness of it managed to get a reaction from him; the fact that his husband could take anyone he wished to bed but if he tried to do the same he’d get beaten half to death wasn’t enough to make him blink. Not that he’d ever wish to bed anyone in this goddess-forgotten palace.

Therefore, when he stepped inside the bedroom and immediately heard groaning and quiet screams of pleasure, Papyrus was just about to turn around again and just leave, staring tiredly down at the floor, when he heard it.

“ _Pap_ ,” was gasped out, the voice speaking so very familiar. Eyes widening, he twisted around, turning toward the bed. Rus’ clothed back was turned against him, and over his shoulder skeletal arms were thrown, holding tightly at his robe. Wide, white, glassy eyelights were staring at him, even as gasps continued escaping their owner.

Rus showed little sign of stopping, or of even noticing, but Papyrus held no delusions about that he didn’t know exactly what was happening. Yet he didn’t care. He stumbled back in, slapping his hands for his mouth as tears filled his eyes. “ _Sans_.”

Sans. Sans was here, Sans was _alive_. There, in their _bedroom_ , being raped by his husband, but _alive_. Papyrus couldn’t tear his eyes away as he leaned against the wall, eyes searching for injuries, but his brother seemed unharmed. The other did the same, and Papyrus could feel his gaze over the heavy jewellery decorating him. Making him more beautiful for the man who just then let out a load groan before slumping. Sans let out a gasp as he was shoved off the other, almost falling off the bed. Anger flashed through Papyrus, surprising him. It was the first anger he’d felt in he wasn’t sure how long. He didn’t understand the calendar in Syrali and had lost count of the days.

“Hello, precious,” Rus greeted as he stood, smoothing his robes out. Papyrus’ soul and instincts all screamed at him. On one hand he should kneel, on one hand he wanted to throw something. Much to his relief, his husband saved him from having to decide. “I suppose you wish to greet your brother. You have my permission.”

“Thank you, my lord,” he whispered as he hurried over the room. Sans was naked outside of a few necklaces and bracelets in silver, his pelvis covered in fluids. He seemed torn whether to cover himself or to throw himself at Papyrus. Before he could say anything, Papyrus sank down on the bed, gathering him into his arms. His soul pounded in his chest, and he could feel a sob rising up his throat as he mumbled his brother’s name. Sans threw his arms around him, squeezing him so tight he could hardly breathe but he didn’t care.

“Pap, Pap, _Papyrus_.” The sound of his name coming from his older brother was like music, and he couldn’t help the tears running down his face. He almost forgot about who was standing beside them, watching. Eventually, they let go, and Sans took his face in his hands, watching him carefully. Papyrus couldn’t help but flinch as Sans’ thumb stroked the bruise on his cheek he’d received the night before for dropping a bottle juice. They were both crying. “Do you know how Slim is?”

He could only shake as he replied, “Alive.”

“Red?”

When Papyrus began shaking his head again, an amused chuckle came from the side. “Your former _fiancé_ -“ Papyrus froze, dread making both his and Sans’ faces pale. “-is alive as well, precious. Now, let go off the whore – I don’t want you soiled.”

Without a word, Papyrus quickly obeyed, removing Sans’ hands from his face. The way his soul heated in fury at hearing his husband refer to his brother like that was carefully hidden away. Sans blinked, opening his mouth as to say something, but didn’t. Instead he quietly slid off the bed, a hand lingering on Papyrus’ leg as he bowed before Rus. When Rus nodded, he wiped the tears of his face and left. Papyrus stared into his lap, at the orange which now stained his robes, but could hear a door click closed.

Everything went quiet. Then, Rus took his face in one hand and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “You’re learning, precious. Go change clothes now.”

Swallowing down his sobs, which were made of fury as well as sorrow, Papyrus nodded. “As you wish, my lord.”

* * *

It was a hot day. Of course, every day was hot – even if this wasn’t Dhurin they were still in the desert, and the stones of the city only multiplied the Sun’s warmth. But it was the beginning of midsummer, and the hottest season was about to start. Two servants stood behind the divans Papyrus and Blue rested in, constantly cooling them down with fans made of peacock feathers.

He imagined they were even hotter, as they were in constant motion. But he couldn’t find it in him to care. Not even a bit. None of them had ever shown him compassion. Not even after he got beaten up for trying to defend one of them. At most, his servant women had shown him a certain degree of kindness but it always ended up with that he ought to be grateful for what he had been given. That he should be happy over his tribe being slaughtered, of being taken into glorified slavery. That his brother was his husband’s concubine. Yes. What a great _honour_. So Papyrus didn’t give a single damn about them. None of the Syrali were deserving of it.

Somehow, it was like seeing his brother had been a wakeup call. Papyrus no longer felt numb. Instead his chest was filled with a constant, hotly burning want for revenge.

He smiled at Blue, who was chattering happily about the Dhurinei merchant tribe which had sold them fine fabrics from Peosana. One of the more betravelled tribes, then. Perhaps tribe Qua’li. He hadn’t been allowed to meet them, of course. He’d been kept in their rooms all day instead, and spent the time looking through his husband’s books. Tried to decipher them with help from the few words Syrash shared with Dhur. He’d been careful to only use the pages with beautiful illustrations, so none of the servants – Blue’s spies – would figure out he was attempting to read. Although he wasn’t sure they knew the Dhurinei all could read. He wouldn’t be surprised if they thought them illiterate.

When he snapped his fingers, another servant came with a crystal goblet filled with pomegranate juice. Papyrus smutted at it, nodding encouragingly at Blue. If there was anyone he hated less here, it was his brother-in-law. He may be an abhorrent being, but at least he was somewhat pleasant to be around when he wasn’t lowkey threatening him.

“I can show you the fabrics,” Blue promised him, his eyes shining with glee. He was gesturing wildly, as he often did when he was excited. “The Peosanira makes such pretty ones, in such bright colours and golden embroideries. If any are of your liking we can have new robes sewn for you.”

“Thank you, Your Highness,” he replied. “I’d like that.”

Blue nodded in acknowledgement before quickly jumping onto the next subject. This time it was the low-scale rebellions happening at the borders of Syrali, which had been crushed within days. Blue’s spies were everywhere, after all. He knew everything about their realm. Now another one had blossomed – nothing to worry about, Blue promised, it happened often despite it being useless – and another unit of soldiers had been sent there.

Suddenly, a _crash_ echoed through the room. Both of them jumped, twisting around in the divan. Papyrus’ soul began pounding in fear as a very angry-looking Rus marched in, having thrown the doors open. Blue tilted his head, mild concern on his face. Papyrus couldn’t breathe as Rus pointed at him with an accusing finger.

“You. Out,” his husband commanded, and he silently let out a breath in relief. Thank the Goddess, he wasn’t in trouble. Flying to his feet, he bowed once before hurrying outside, closing the doors behind him. Odd. There weren’t any guards or ushers here, who usually would manage the doors so the royals and nobility didn’t have to.

As he began walking down the hallway, he stopped. There weren’t any guards or servants. It was empty. Papyrus hesitated for a moment, before turning back. As carefully he could, he slid the doors open just a little. The wood was hot under his hands. He hardly dared to breathe as he listened.

“-unit was destroyed,” he heard Rus say. “The rebels too, but only two soldiers survived. Not that those filthy Dhurinei matter, but it’s outrageous that the rebels could do this.”

 _Dhurinei_. He froze, hardly daring to believe what he’d heard. Dhurinei. His people had died fighting the said rebels. He prayed to the Goddess it had been a tribe of mercenaries. They usually didn’t offer their services to squalid foreigners but it wasn’t completely unheard of. Even if it disgraced them among their own people. Working for non-Dhurinei was an abhorrent, disgraceful thought, outside of the occasional trading which was necessary for everyone’s survival. The desert did not have many resources, after all. He stepped closer, holding his breath completely as he waited.

“Calm down, brother,” Blue said. “Which survived? Is Papyrus’ fiancé still alive?”

“No, why do you ask? The taller skeleton and a human are the only ones not dust.”

Horror filled him, and he couldn’t even hear what Blue answered. Pain greater than what he’d ever felt before blossomed in his soul, and Papyrus stumbled away from the door, sinking down along the wall. Red. Red was _dead_. He swallowed, and swallowed again, trying to keep the scream building in his throat in. They couldn’t know he was here. But it was only a small part of him which cared. His fiancé, the love of his life, was _dust_.

He fought to get on his feet, and he ran. He didn’t know how, but soon he found himself in the garden. Papyrus sank down by a tree. Tears were gathering in his throat, but they would not come. The hot desert breeze made him sweat, which almost gave the sensation of tears down his face. But no tears. No sobs. There was a horrible emptiness in his chest, which slowly overpowered the pain. And he couldn’t cry. Despite the thickness in his throat, his eyes were dry as he stared up at the blue sky, which was completely cloudless.

Red was dead, and he had died fighting for a country who’d killed them, and enslaved the survivors. Now he knew what had happened to the survivors. He wondered if Slim were among them, or if he’d been kept somewhere else. Perhaps he too was dead. Perhaps he was not. Papyrus had no way of knowing, for the royal brothers wouldn’t tell him.

He put a hand over his stomach, which would’ve been growing now if he didn’t take those herbs. Or if this had never happened at all. He should’ve been carrying a child. A future Syrali tyrant, or a Dhurinei.  Rus’ or Red’s. At the thought, he could finally feel his eyes starting to turn damp, and as he stared straight at the sun for a few seconds, a sob rose in his throat. A tear slid down his cheek. That was the start of it. Papyrus hid his face in his robes and screamed a scream shook by sobs so violent he thought he’d die, and he didn’t care.

Once the tears dried, a servant was standing at a respectful distance, waiting. Wiping the tears of his face, Papyrus looked at them and they bowed deeply. “His Royal Majesty requests your presence in the bedroom, Your Majesty.”

“I’m coming,” he replied, standing up. He walked over to the fountain, washing away the rests of his crying from his face. When he looked at his reflection, there were no sorrow left. Only a fury, burning brightly in his eyelights. He hid it well behind a pleasant smile before turning around to the servant. “Show the way.”

Now, he knew they did not deserve mercy. They would all suffer for what they had done to his people.


	5. Chapter 5

Whenever Papyrus asked about his brothers, he’d only get the vaguest answer possible. They never _denied_ him one, but it was rarely much more than “alive” for Slim, and “living in luxury” for Sans. That he wasn’t certain he _wanted_ more details than that about Sans wasn’t relevant. Whenever he thought about his older brother and his husband, he felt like vomiting. When he asked about the remains of his tribe, he’d been slapped. His cheek was still bruised black. They’d told him that it was irrelevant. They weren’t his tribe anymore. He was a Syrali, not a Dhurine.

So Papyrus stopped asking. It gave nothing. It only had them trusting him even less. Eventually, he would know. He only needed to be patient. Which he’d never been. He had, however, always been a great actor. If not even Slim could see through it, then neither would his new ‘family’.

Therefore, whenever Rus called him into his bed, he went there with a content smile on his face. Rus was sitting on the bed, wearing nothing but a velvet night robe. He smiled tenderly when Papyrus entered the room. Held out his arms, inviting him into his lap. Gentle fingers stroked his arm when he slid into it, making him shudder in pleasure even as his stomach coiled. He breathed deeply, forcing down the nausea. He could _smell_ the other’s arousal. Pressing a light kiss to his husband’s cheek, Papyrus returned the smile.

Long, elegant hands wandered from his arm to his ribcage, beneath his robes. Scratching lightly. Papyrus let out a gasp, not bothering to hide it anymore. Chuckling, Rus kissed his collarbone. “I knew you’d come around, precious.”

He sighed contently when Papyrus reciprocated, tugging at his bare ribs lightly. “Indeed, my lord,” he replied. His voice was husky, breathless. Bile gathered in his throat. Burning. “I’ve started to realize how ungrateful I’ve been. Allow me to make up for that?”

“Why of course.” The reply was amused, excited, _smug_. Papyrus smiled brighter as he slid his robes of himself. They tumbled to the floor. As his husband’s eyes devoured his body it was a fight against himself not to bolt to the bathing room and throw himself into the hottest pool. His metaphorical skin crawled. Still, he pressed their teeth together, letting out delighted little gasps as Rus dominated his mouth. If he couldn’t escape this, he would make it his weapon.

The next morning, Papyrus did not take his herbs.

* * *

“How happy you seem,” Blue commented as he strolled into the garden. Tearing his eyes away from the beautiful butterfly he was studying, Papyrus smiled blithely at him. He bowed his back in greeting, since he was already kneeling. A peacock, imported from Peosana, strolled around nearby. “I’m glad, but how come?”

Shrugging, Papyrus rested his hands in the soft grass. The air was dry and hot, and he couldn’t imagine how much water it must take to keep the vegetation so lush. “I decided I was being unreasonable, Your Highness. Once I stopped being miserable all the time, I realized how lucky I am.”

That seemed to be the right thing to say. Blue’s smile widened, and as he sank to the ground next to him, he grasped Papyrus’ hand and squeezed it lightly. This time, Papyrus smile was just a little sincerer. No matter how much he hated this place, he hated Blue just a little less. Honestly, he wasn’t sure how he would’ve avoided going insane without the easy company of the other.

“You were crying here in the garden a few days ago,” Blue asked casually. “Why?”

Seizing up, Papyrus found himself unable to breathe for a few seconds. With great effort, he managed to look ashamed as he stared down at the grass. His thoughts flashed through fast as lightening. Of course Blue knew. And if he knew that, he might know exactly why. Was this a trap? To see if he’d lie? Blue cleared his throat, obviously expecting an answer and not very patient about it.

Inhaling nervously, Papyrus attempted to smile. “I- I eavesdropped. I heard about Red.”

“Re- oh, your former fiancé.” Blue nodded, and Papyrus’ shoulders sank in relief as he seemed pleased. Thank the goddess. His soul sank as well when Blue then shook his head. “I am happy you were honest with me, Papyrus, but that’s not acceptable behaviour. I will have to tell my brother.”

Crestfallen, Papyrus nodded. Cold sweat dripped down his spine at the thought of what would happen. Especially since another battle had been won by losing multiple units of the armies, and Rus was in a terrible mood. He trembled at the thought. Taking pity on him, Blue patted his hand. “I’ll wait until he’s not as stressed anymore, alright?”

The relief was overwhelming. For a moment, he forgot how to breathe before exhaling slowly. Papyrus dipped his head, gratitude swelling in his soul. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Blue assured him, rising. As he did, a servant – or rather, as Papyrus had realized far too slowly, a slave - was immediately by his side to brush some dirt of his robes. They were yellow today. An unusual change from his normal blues. Sunshine danced in his golden bracelets. In Papyrus’, too. Holding out a hand, he jerked his head toward the stone path. “Rus does tend to get a little overenthusiastic when stressed, and that wouldn’t quite be fair on you. Walk with me.”

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the word ‘fair’, Papyrus allowed the other to help him rise. Together, they strolled toward the small, bubbling waterfalls on the other side of the garden. The clear water fell into a sparkling pool, which was kept constantly cool due to the gardeners tipping ice into it when it started to warm up. All so that the royals and nobility could enjoy the chill when they so wished.

The castle was in the centre of the city, what he had understood. Yet he could still sometimes smell the desert air, hot and dry and full of starshine. Their legends told that the Sun Goddess had created the Dhurinei from stardust, and their desert from starlight. It was true that even when their goddess disappeared beyond the horizon, the Dhurinei never feared the dark. Never feared the night. Not as long as one of the Sisters still remained on the sky. Perhaps that was because it was from the night they had been born.

Papyrus didn’t know where the Syrali came from, nor did he care. But if he had to guess, he’d say they were the descendants of scorpions.

Just for a few seconds, he felt peace. The hot air caressed his face and his light robes fluttered in the breeze. If he closed his eyes and ignored the fact that the stone was far too flat, polished, he could almost see it. See Dhurin spread before him, their Goddess in the sky. Hear the activity of the caravan around him as they left for their next camp. Smell the camels and the spices they would sell. Feel the joy of travelling, of being free to go wherever they wanted.

“-getting impatient, you know.” He twitched, thrown out of his reminiscence. Blue glared at him, sighing. He rubbed his forehead. “You weren’t listening, were you?”

“My apologies, Your Highness, I got lost in my head,” Papyrus replied, swallowing. His hands caught each other behind his back to keep them from shaking. Goddess, would Blue be mad?

“Calm down, Papyrus, I’m not going to hit you.” Blue snorted, shaking his head. As he did, he gestured for them to take in on a smaller path. His tone was very nearly amused as he said, “Anyway, my brother has made it very clear no one is allowed to touch you. I think he’s feeling protective.”

“So, as I was _saying-_ ” he continued, paying little notice to Papyrus, which was lucky since at that he couldn’t help how his eyelights sparked in fury, “-everyone is getting impatient for an heir. You’ve been married to my brother for months now, and there are still no signs for a pregnancy. Is something wrong?”

“Absolutely nothing, Your Highness,” Papyrus assured him, smiling gingerly. Yet, there was a certain edge to it as he placed his hand over his midriff. Where a baby would rest, had he been pregnant. “I am certain everything will turn out just fine. I promise.”

“Well then.” Blue nodded gesturing toward one of the entrances into the castle itself. It was where he had been steering them the whole time, Papyrus was sure. “If you say so, dearest brother.”

* * *

When Papyrus sat by on dinner that night, his fingers wandered. Smiling meekly at the noble praising Rus for the raids in Kanei – the country north of Syrali and Dhurin, he let them follow the curve of his husband’s leg, and down the part of his left arm covered by the low table. Rus’ smile grew more and more strained at the feather-light touches.

He chuckled as another noble commented on how the captured Dhurinei ought to be grateful over getting to come to civilization. Agreeing, he sipped on his goblet of ice-cold juice. In his chest, hatred burned brightly. It was hot, it was empowering. Had it been something tangible, Papyrus would’ve been a beacon of light. He played the role of the perfect spouse, and as he did, he imagined if it had been something touchable, a true power. The corner of his mouth twitched.

He would have shone almost like the Sun, burning them all to ash.

Suddenly, Rus grasped his fingers, squeezing them. It wasn’t painful. Just uncomfortable. A warning, no doubt. His soul fluttered anxiously. Nevertheless, Rus smiled at him, leaning down to his ear, murmuring, “Just another hour, precious. Then we can return to the bedroom.”

Papyrus smiled angelically, stretching his fingers as Rus let them go. Ouch. “I look forward to it.”

* * *

He’d been squirming all night. Light nausea came and went, and the room was too hot. Yet when he ordered a servant to open the window to let in the chilly desert night air, it was too cold instead. Papyrus turned around on his other side. Great. Now his mouth was dry again. Behind him, he could hear Rus snoring softly. Fast asleep.

“You,” he hissed, startling the slave by the wall who seemingly had started to slumber. They flinched, quickly getting on their feet. “Get me more water.”

They obeyed, half-sprinting to the next room where a small drinking fountain were placed. They returned within minutes. _Not_ fast enough. Papyrus wasn’t sure why, but he felt incredibly irritable. Still, he resisted the urge to scold them. They were Syrali, he knew that, but they hadn’t chosen to come to court. Heaving himself up on his elbows, Papyrus reached out to take the goblet they offered to him. As he did, the thin linen blanket slid down from his stomach, revealing a dim glow.

Both froze, staring at his midriff. The water goblet fell to the bed. It rolled, falling to the floor, and breaking with a loud _crash_. At his side, Rus mumbled, moving restlessly, but didn’t wake. A multitude of feelings flashed through Papyrus all at once, so many he just felt numb as he stared at his orange-glowing stomach. At the tiny extra soul within it. Horror and triumph were the only ones he could name.

It pulsed in the darkness of night, turning his white bones colourful. Gaping, he turned to the servant, who too was staring. “Get the prince.”

Those were the only words he could force out, but it seemed to be enough. The servants bowed before rushing out of the room. Swallowing, Papyrus turned around in the bed. Facing his husband, he considered the situation. After what he’d managed to interpret from a lawbook, this was good news. Nonetheless, he felt sick. Not only from what he assumed was pregnancy-nausea, but also the fact that he was carrying this tyrant’s child.

After taking a moment to himself, he forced the grimace of his face. Gently, he shook the other until Rus, grumbling, opened his eyes. Honestly, he’d love to just throw water onto the other but he wasn’t suicidal. When Rus’ eyes found his, he whispered, “I’m pregnant, my lord.”

It apparently took a few seconds for the other process but once he did, his eyes widened comically. The mattress squeaked as he sat up so fast Papyrus almost didn’t see him move, and Rus found his stomach. A hand was placed onto it, caressing it. A shiver travelled up Papyrus’ spine. He bit down on his tongue, wincing at the pain. But when Rus glanced up at him, he smiled widely. As though he was happy over this.

Which, in a way, he was. But not for the reasons the other would think.

Neither of them spoke, and soon enough the doors were thrown open so loudly they both jumped.  Blue stormed over to the bed, and his eyes sparkled in wonder as he saw the glowing ecto-stomach. “I’m going to be come an uncle,” he whispered.

Papyrus almost snorted. Still, he nodded, gesturing for the other to join them. Soon two hands were stroking his stomach, watching the souling. Incredible. It was strange, though. His mother had always told him that no matter what, he’d love his child. When staring down on the souling, he only felt triumph and disgust. Apparently she’d been wrong. Though, of course, it was not yet a child. A child came to be once the Sun had shone on it, blessed it with a soul. Until then, it was only something that could one day _be_ a child.

“You did good,” Rus murmured, grabbing his hand to kiss it.

Papyrus giggled. “Thank you, my lord.”

* * *

The pregnancy was announced at lunch that day. He had eaten breakfast in his room as the servant women dressed him up and styled him. From now on, he’d wear no covering robes, it seemed. Nothing sensible. Rather, he’d been put into something much more Peosani than Dhurinei – and Syrali, he assumed. Long skirt with a crop top revealing his stomach. Leaving it for everyone to see and be amazed by.

Their future ruler. That's what they thought, at least.

Rus had changed. Apparently nothing got to endanger his heir, and every touch was insufferably soft. Not that Papyrus wasn’t supremely relieved that the rough touches, the _violence_ , had stopped for the time being, but it was unsettling. It made his stomach roll to have Rus act like they were a happy couple expecting their first child. Like he was _pleased_.

And Blue… well. Blue had never been terrible, but now he was simply smothering. The servants had gotten order to make sure he never got tired. Which was torture, because he was Dhurine. He was used to walking through the hot desert, and only the sick or _very_ pregnant or very young went with the carriages. Sitting still was abhorrent.

Still, he did it. Still he lounged on his pile of pillows next to Rus’ throne, showcased like a prized mare. Listened to them congratulate Rus – and him, but mostly Rus, always Rus – on his future heir. Give them their blessings, and told that they’d pray for a strong and powerful future ruler.

But when the evenings came, and Rus led him into the bedroom, there was still the same thing waiting. Rus was nearly insatiable, and not even Papyrus’ pregnancy would stop it. He _had_ been courteous enough to offer taking a concubine to bed instead, but Papyrus had said no. Acted _jealous_ , when all he wanted was to make sure he didn’t get to Sans. He thought about his brothers as he rested by Rus’ side at night. About Sans in the king’s harem, about Slim whose whereabouts were still unknown.

They were in his thoughts until his hand found his soft stomach, and a picture of Red appeared in his mind. Of Red laughing in joy as Papyrus had proposed, offering up the matching bracelets. The bracelet he no longer had. Of the future and the children he could’ve had with the man he loved instead of this demon. Soft sobs tore from his throat, and Papyrus buried his face in the pillows, so he wouldn’t wake the other as he cried.

* * *

Apparently Rus’ patience and kindness only lasted that long. Papyrus whimpered as the book was torn out of his hands, and he scooted backwards, pressing his back against the warm wall. Angry orange eyelights were staring down on him. They were burning. Rus held up the book, the page he’d been on. Shook it, so the pages rustled. There were no pictures.

“Well?” he demanded, almost shoving the book into Papyrus’ face. It smelled of fig bark. Papyrus swallowed, glancing up at him. Their eyes met, and his hands clutched the fabric of his skirt. Breathing shallowly, he quickly averted his eyes, staring at the floor. “Were you going to tell me you’re _learning Syrali_? Something I so _generously_ made sure you wouldn’t have to do?”

Swallowing, Papyrus puled as Rus grabbed his jaw, forcing their eyes to meet. Tears gathered in his eyes at the hard grip. It was going to bruise. He tried to reply, but only whines escaped him. Rus’ face distorted into a disgusted grimace as he squeezed harder. “ _Well_?”

“I’m sorry!” Papyrus gasped out. His soul pounded and he ducked his head while still maintaining the eye contact Rus wanted. His chest felt like it was going to implode, his hands were shaking. The corner of Rus’ mouth twitched. “I’m sorry I’m so sorry I just wanted to _understand_ I’m sorry.”

After yet another squeeze, the hand lightened, and Rus knelt before him. A hand petted the top of his skull. His husband smiled gently. “Oh precious. You could’ve just have told me and I would’ve gotten you a tutor.”

 _Yeah sure_. His doubt and disbelief seemed to be readable on his face, because Rus’ expression darkened again. He bit back a sob as a hand collided with his cheek. Pain. A flash of anger. It disappeared as soon as it had come, and a tear slid down his cheek.

At least Rus was careful not to hurt the souling.

* * *

His cheeks were still aching. Moving his jaw hurt. The bruises on his arms forced him not to move too much as he lied in the bed. It was pure luck Rus hadn’t demanded any sex tonight, or Papyrus might’ve just completely broken apart. He lied on his stomach, skull resting in his hands. Just watching. Rus’ ribcage moved slowly as he breathed. Quiet snores came from him. He was sleeping well. Wouldn’t wake for anything less than an earthquake.

Papyrus’ expression was cold. Insipid. He didn’t smile, he didn’t glare. His soul was calm in his chest as he watched. Watched the man who had destroyed his life. Watched the man who had impregnated him. Who had beaten him until he was screaming, sobbing, for reading a book. Tilting his head, he rolled out of the bed. The room was completely empty. All servants had been dismissed for the night. The floor was cold against his feet. Outside the window, stars twinkled on the dark desert sky. There was no moon. Not tonight.

Right now, his people were warding their camps with sunlight candles. The Ancient would have blessed the tents, to ward away any evil spirits. Those were always the most dangerous when there was no moon. Without the sister of the Sun, there was no holy light. Nothing to keep them away. And here he was. Far away from the dunes of Dhurin, and yet so close. He could make out the desert beyond the city if he looked closely. Of course, it was still Syrali's land, but it was the same sand. The same desert. Almost, almost, the same. So close to home, yet so far.

Glancing back, Papyrus saw that Rus was indeed still sleeping tight. His feet were quiet over the floor as he made his way over to his jewellery box. It clicked when he opened it. There. Beneath the gold and precious stones. A bundle of the reddest silk. Some of the Peosani silk he’d gotten from Blue. For a moment, his mouth twisted into in a smile before returning to the same bland expression. With precise movements, he unwrapped the cloth. As he did, he walked over to the window.

The stars shone above. Calm and beautiful. Not as clear as home, not with the palace’s many lights. But still there. They, too, were the same stars. When the cloth was fully unwrapped, Papyrus smiled. He held his newly acquired secret loosely, comfortably. Just like Undyne had shown him many years ago. The starlight twinkled in the polished cold steel of the dagger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need to Pomodoro-write more. It's really relaxing and makes it much easier to write things you don't really want to be writing - not because I don't enjoy the story but just because I don't want to for unknown reasons?


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've been doing nothing but this, and all of this, _all day_. This was _hard_ , although it also was fun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Added a couple tags! Be careful!

His mouth twisted into a smile as he stared up at the stars. At the spirits of Dhurinei of old. They seemed to shine brighter than usual. Nodding toward them, he turned away from the window. Away from his ancestors. _Toward_ his husband. The dagger rested in his hand, comfortable. He’d stolen it from Sabah’s sewing kit, and she hadn’t seemed to notice. The chilly breeze from the open window caressed his bones, pressing him forward. Papyrus tilted his head as he watched the sleeping Rus, towering above him.

Peaceful. Almost sweet. His fingers curled around the dagger as he studied him. Chest rising and falling, completely bared. His soul beat steadily in his chest, hard and slow like a war drum. Like the drums of his people’s warrior tribes in yet another clash. His smile grew at the thought.

Soon.

He sat down on the bed, feeling the soft mattress lower beneath his weight. It squeaked quietly. Not enough to make Rus react. Sliding the blanket over his legs, he tilted his head. The dagger had grown warm in his palm. He trailed a finger over Rus’ ribcage, watching the other shudder beneath his ministrations. Now then. _Where?_ Undyne had once taught him how to do the most damage, in case he ever was captured. Merchant tribes were protected by one of their few common laws in Dhurin, but there were a few rouge groups who did not much care for such trivialities.

Papyrus chuckled. He’d like to wake Rus up for this. Wanted to see the realization, the _fear_ , in his eyes. Yet, it was an unnecessary risk. He couldn’t risk the other calling for the guards. Shame. There, just left of the sternum. The other’s soul pulsed calmly, shining grey. Narrowing his eyes, he slid the dagger in between two ribs. The cold tip touched the soul, and Rus let out a quiet gasp.

Channelling all his hatred, all his rage, all his desire for vengeance into the dagger, Papyrus thrust it in. It pierced the soul easily, sliding through it like it was butter. A full-body shudder went through Rus, and his eyes flew open. They immediately found Papyrus’ face, and their eyes met. Papyrus’, shining brightly with joy and hatred. For the first time in months revealing _exactly_ what he thought about this king. And Rus’, confused, hazed, pained. _Fearful_. Papyrus’ soul skipped a beat.

Rus opened his mouth, a silent cough escaping him. Mouthed one single word. _Why_ -. Then, the blackness within his sockets grew more compact. His body began to dust, some following the breeze off the bed. Something wet, orange, glittered in the corner of Rus’ eye. Moving deliberately, Papyrus wiped the tear away with his thumb.

“Now, now, my lord,” he hummed as Rus coughed again, weaker this time. “There’s no _use_ crying about it.”

Then, the grey soul shattered. The dagger fell to the bed, and the dust sank down as well. The king was dead. Papyrus dug his hand into the pile of dust, fishing out the dagger. His hand turned grey. Wiping it off on the blanket, he stroked his stomach with his free hand. “Hope you survive this, little one,” he murmured. “You’re my ticket to revenge.”

Without hesitating, he slashed through the ecto-flesh. Papyrus gasped in pain, feeling marrow slide down the still-flat stomach. No other sound escaped him as he scratched his own ribcage, and then his arm. All superficial wounds. All sufficient. A grimace contorted his face as he inhaled deeply, forcing himself to ignore the pain. There was exactly one guard within the suit. She’d get here the fastest. Then he only had seconds to act.

Papyrus screamed.

The sound was ear-shattering. Scraped in his throat. Running steps, and he grabbed the vase on the bedtable. The door to the bedchamber was thrown up, and the guard rushed in, staring wild-eyed at the scene. Took in the dust pile next to Papyrus, and the marrow all over him. Within seconds, she was next to him, and that’s when she saw the dagger. Papyrus saw the realization in her eyes. His soul pounded in his chest. Before she could say a word, he smashed the vase over her head. The debris cut her head, blood rushing out, covering him. She sank down in his lap, a few hisses coming from her before she quieted. Dead.

Quickly closing her hands around the dagger, he screamed again. Louder. It echoed between the stone walls. Less than a minute later, a small guard unit stormed into the room. At that point, tears were running down his cheeks, and he was gasping. Staring wide-eyed at the corpse in his lap. Clutching his stomach.

“Get- get it off get it _off_ ,” he sobbed, weakly shoving at the guard’s corpse. Hot tears spilled from his eyes. “ _Please_.”

“Get a healer,” one of the guards ordered, and one ran. The sound of their running footsteps stayed long after they’d left. The rest of them sprinted up to Papyrus, quickly tearing the guard corpse off him. He gasped in relief once the weight left him. Only half-acted; it was disgusting. Not to mention heavy. “Your Majesty, hey, stay with us. Are you alright?”

“The- the child is it okay, the _child_ ,” he rambled, continuing to clutch his stomach. One of the guards used his cape to wipe off the blood and marrow from the stomach, revealing that the souling was indeed still floating in there, seemingly fine. They kept assuring him everything was going to be okay, and one picked up the dagger from the floor. It had fallen when the dead guard had been pulled off him.

Soon, the room was full of people. Healers checking on him, someone collecting the dust of the dead king, guards investigating, servants wiping the blood of him with wet cloth, murmuring soothing words. Papyrus kept trembling, even as the tears stopped, unable to be forced anymore. And then. Blue came running in. He took one look at Papyrus’ red-eyed form before he saw the diamond urn now holding his brother’s dust. A shriek, worse than anything Papyrus had ever heard, came from Blue. It stopped all activity for a few seconds.

Tears were already flooding down Blue’s face as he stumbled up the urn, hand before his mouth. His eyes were wide, horrified. Wild. He trembled as he sank to his knees, never looking away from it. Papyrus almost pitied him. Almost. A sob escaped Blue, and he hid his face in his hands. Papyrus only watched. This gave him no satisfaction; he liked Blue. Blue had been the closest thing he’d had to a friend here. Servants handed him a cup of hot coffee, which he absentmindedly smutted on.

Finally, Blue stood up. His eyes glowed faintly red, his hands were clenched on his sides. “Who did this?” he asked, voice shaking. It rose into a shriek when he repeated himself. “ _Who_ _did this?_ ”

Mutely, the guards pointed at the dead body on the floor. Rage lit up Blue’s eyes as he stared on the corpse, mixing with the sorrow. “I want every member of her family dead. _Every single one_. The execution is at dusk.”

Eyes flickered between him and Papyrus, unsure. Swallowing, Papyrus nodded. It took everything he had not to grin at the uncertainty in their eyes, and how it disappeared at the nod. Guards left, probably to go hunt them down. Blue’s eyes found him, still teary. “What happened, Papyrus?”

“I- I-“ Papyrus stuttered, squeezing the cup between his hands. There was a desperation in Blue’s eyes as he stared at him. “I woke up by- from whimpering. She- she stood lean- leaning over me, a knife between my- my lord’s ribs, and he- he dusted quickly. Then she-“ he stopped, inhaling shakily. “-she tried to stab me too, but I rolled, and she couldn’t hit. So I grabbed the vase- from the bedtable, and hit her head.”

Blue’s eyes seemed to soften, although the red glow was still there. He nodded. “You were very brave. Someone, get him out of here. He doesn’t need to see this.”

Smiling weakly, Papyrus allowed Karyme and Sabah to guide him outside. Toward the room he’d occupied the brief time before his marriage. The room was chilly, shining clean. No one had used it ever since. Giving them a short order to stay, he staggered over to the writing desk, fishing out a piece of parchment. He wrote down a quick message before sealing it with the wax in one of the drawers. Gesturing for Sabah to come, he handed her the message as well as a smaller jewel. She, too, was in fact a slave, and mute. Neither could she write or read.

“Get this to a courier in _town_. As fast as possible,” he ordered. “If anyone else reads it, that’s your life forfeited.”

She nodded, leaving the room with a nimble bow. Long since used to death threats, probably. Papyrus felt ashamed of threatening someone so defenceless, but he couldn’t risk the letter getting into wrong hands. And she was, what he had understood and he prayed he was right, the only one of his servants who didn’t spy for Blue – and only due to her incapability to communicate.

Wiping tear-streaks of his cheek, Papyrus turned to the remaining servant, his smile once again wobbly. “Draw me a bath, please? I’m all- all bloody.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” she only replied before leaving for the bathroom. He followed, making sure she didn’t go anywhere else.

* * *

By morning, everything was chaos. When Papyrus finally left his chamber before lunch, dressed all in red to show his mourning, Blue still had not been seen. Apparently, he was in his rooms, not even letting in his personal servants. No jewellery adorned Papyrus’ form as he made his way through the hallways. At least among his people, it was unacceptable to decorate yourself while in mourning. He hoped it was the same here. The sound-level in the dinner hall was insufferable, loud debates about what to do now and who should inherit the throne the reigning subject. The most common choice seemed to be Blue.

Everyone quieted when Papyrus strode inside, his glowing stomach in full view. He held a ‘tender’ hand just beneath it, reminding them that he carried their heir. They all bowed as he took his place at the end of the table. Just between his old seat and between Rus’. Between the consort’s and the king’s.

“Are you well, Your Majesty?” a noble asked. The very same noble who had once asked him if he wasn’t grateful for being rescued from the barbaric desert, or something like that. Swirling his juice around in his glass, Papyrus smiled at him. No longer a weak smile, but a determined one.

“I am indeed well, my lord,” he replied. “I am going to have nightmares about this for years, surely, but I cannot dwell on it. Especially since Prince Blue has yet to come out, I will do my best to keep everything in order. Such is my duty as the guardian of the throne heir, after all, and the least I can do for my late husband.”

As he said it, he stroked his bare stomach. The lord jerked at the reminder, gaping. Whispers spread across the room, and Papyrus smiled sweetly. Good.

The rest of the dinner was eaten in silence. Only the scratching of cutlery against metal plates was heard. Papyrus spent the entire time musing about his next move. Of course, in the confusion he could likely get his hand on a horse or camel and leave. But no. It wasn’t nearly enough. Syrali would soon recover and continue as before if he did. More people would suffer like he had.

When Blue finally arrived in the end of the dinner, he too wore all red. Robes the colour of a red desert during dusk. A single ruby, red as blood, hung around his neck. There was no other jewellery to be seen. While most everyone bowed deeply, Papyrus barely nodded. The other seemed exhausted, like it was hard to stay upright. He sank into his usual seat, not even commenting on Papyrus’ seating. Papyrus smiled at him.

Let the battle begin.

* * *

“The throne is mine.”

The words were silent, hardly more than a whisper. Yet everyone heard them. They seemed to echo between the stone walls of the council room. Everyone stared at Blue, at the uncharacteristically cold expression on his face. Papyrus leaned backwards in his divan, tilting his head innocently.

“I am the last member of House Al-Hamidi,” Blue said, standing up. He placed his hands on the council table, leaning over it. “The last prince of Syrali’s ancient royal family. The throne is _mine_.”

“With all due respect, Your Highness,” a lady commented, smiling nervously. “You are not. The souling in His Majesty’s stomach is the last Al-Hamidi, and the legitimate heir of our king, may he forever hunt among the stars.”

“It’s not _born yet_.” Blue’s voice was hard, fingers digging into the table. “You can’t make a _souling_ the ruler of Syrali. I want this baby as much as any of you, it’s the only living thing left from my brother, but I am _not_ giving a souling the _throne_.”

To be perfectly honest, Papyrus agreed. What idiots these people were, considering giving the entire country to someone who wasn’t even a person yet. How in Natéa- He chuckled quietly, rising form his divan. Softly, he placed a hand on Blue’s shoulder. The other twitched but looked up at him. There was something desperate in his eyes.

“It _is_ still the child of your brother – my husband,” he said, trying to sound soothing. “The rightful owner of the throne. Do a few months really make a difference? Even if it had been born, its guardian would still rule for many years still.”

Had it been born, there would be no discussion at all. The smartest of Papyrus would have been to wait until then, but he had no wish to risk his life in labour for it. None at all. So he’d simply have to make sure this either went his way, or continued on long enough. Blue glared at him, for the first time something vicious in his gaze as they looked at him. Papyrus just smiled.

“I don’t doubt _you_ want it,” Blue commented. He turned to the councilmembers. “But he is the legal guardian of the souling. Do we really wish to put a Dhurine on the most powerful position in Syrali? One whose tribe we have decimated. Is it really wise? What does he know about politics anyway?”

The words cut. Papyrus wasn’t sure why, but they hurt, just a little. Moving up to face the council himself, he replied, all sweetness exchanged for seriousness, “I have lived here for almost a year. I have learnt, and I have you brilliant nobles to guide me. And it is my _right_ , by your own law. As the guardian of your late king’s heir, the law dictates that I am to rule in their place until they are of age.”

Learning how to read their language had been tough, but fruitful. _Very_ fruitful. Once he finally could study legal texts, he’d found out everything he needed to know. Murmurs spread. They knew he was right. Nonetheless, they would want to do what was best for their country as well. Papyrus had to give his late husband that; he’d known how to earn his nobility’s loyalty. None of them had attempted to take the throne as their own.

* * *

The discussions went on for days. No end seemed to be coming, but Papyrus was enjoying it. Even if the uncertainty of the long discussions wore on him, no one bothered to keep the same close track of him. He was sure Blue’s spies was looking for any flaw to use against him, so he had to be careful with that, but otherwise he could go wherever he wanted and do whatever he wished.

When he slept, he could see Rus’ fearful dying expression, again and again. It was lovely. Papyrus never wanted to forget it. Strolling through the garden, he suddenly heard frantic activity outside of the tall palace wall. Raising an eyebrow, he stopped a servant running past. Their eyes were wide, and they were gasping.

“There’s hundreds of desert warriors outside, Your Majesty,” they panted, and Papyrus’ eyes widened. He let them go, and as soon as their back was turned to him, a grin grew on his face. Finally. He hurried through the palace, zig-zagging through the crowds gathered. No one stopped him. No one knew whether he was their ruler or not, after all. No one wanted to risk his wrath if he was.

When he reached the palace gate, the crowd parted for him. His grin grew as he stepped outside the castle for the first time since he got here. Only a few meters, but enough. Even better, in front of him Dhurinei filled the streets. All warriors, dressed in traditional grey and brown hooded robes. Spears and swords in their hands. In difference to his tribe, these were true fighters. There was a reason no one had _ever_ managed to conquer Dhurin, after all, despite many attempts through the centuries.

And in front of them, leading them, dressed in the same robes but in a blood-red colour, stood Fell, his hand on his sheathed sword. Papyrus gasped, tears filling his eyes. When their eyes met, he slapped his hands for his mouth to keep in the sobs wanting out.  One of his. An Aasir. _Red’s brother_. Fell smiled at him, all sharp edges and bone-deep sorrow. A guard went to grab Papyrus, but he tore his arm out of their grip. A mix between laughter and crying escaped him, and his soul pounded in his chest as he stumbled forward, half-running.

Fell stepped forward as well, holding out his arms, and Papyrus threw himself into them, burying his face in the other’s hood. He laughed. His soul ached. Tears slid down his face, and he couldn’t stop laughing as Fell stroked the back of his scarf-covered head, his back. He gasped out, “I see you got my letter.”

“I’m so sorry,” Fell murmured, “about everything.”

Eventually, Papyrus stepped back, wiping of his tear-stained face with his sleeve. He smiled brightly at Fell, ignoring the aching which had renewed at the sight of him. His voice was breathless as he said, “I’ve missed you.”

“ _What is going on_ ,” a voice came out from behind, and Papyrus turned around to see Blue stare at them, gaping. He seemed to lean backwards, hide behind the guards still there. “Papyrus. What is-“

Still smiling, Papyrus looked at Fell. He nodded, once. Sharply. Papyrus’ smile hardened, although the joy still was there. He stepped forward, followed by Fell, who unsheathed his sword. “I’m just taking what is rightfully _mine_ , Your Highness.”

From the distance, he could see Blue swallow. Though to his credit, he didn’t run. Not once did he act anything less than exemplary as a unit of Dhurinei arrested him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've added a few tags, and some of them are sensitive subjects, so some of you might want to check those out before proceeding!
> 
> With that said, here is the seventh and final chapter of _No Use Crying_

The takeover had been easy. The Syrali had very little to fight back with. Their army was scattered, the castle guards much fewer than the Dhurinei, and with Papyrus’ lawful claim on the throne there was nothing to be done. Soon, the small kingdom was under Dhurine rule – under _Papyrus’_ rule. He was still debating on what to do with Blue, with the Syrali, with the kingdom, but first, he had something more important to take care of.

For the first time since the combined mariticide and regicide, Papyrus walked into his and Rus shared bedchamber again, Fell and a small unit of trusted soldiers right behind. He walked right past the bed, now made and tidy as though Rus was going to come back at the end of the day, and toward a smaller door in the back. A door he’d never been allowed to pass by when Rus was alive, and hadn’t quite dared to after. On his own, that was.

His hand hovered over the key in the lock. He inhaled deeply as Fell stepped up closer to him, and turned it. The door slid open easily, revealing a short hallway. At the end of it, there was another door. Papyrus unlocked it as well.

When it slid open, he froze. His breath caught in his throat. The inside was indeed luxurious, and gorgeous. Warmly coloured drapes hung from the ceiling, mats covered the floor, and divans and pillows spread along the walls. What made his soul stop dead, however, was the dozens of monsters and humans in there, staring at him. They lounged in the divans, and seemed to all have frozen when they appeared. Dozens of doors revealed that the area was bigger than this, and that there were likely even more people here. More members of Rus’ harem.

“Who are you?” one of the bolder ones asked, stepping up to them. Their eyes were sharp, regarding the two of them with suspicion. Papyrus couldn’t blame them. He wondered how many weren’t even Syrali.

“He is Queen Regent Papyrus of Syrali, born of Tribe Aasir,” Fell said before Papyrus could. He sounded impatient, but Papyrus could hear the nerves in his voice. Just as nervous, _scared_ , as Papyrus himself was. “I am his general, Fell of Tribe Aasir. We are looking for Sans, of the same tribe. His Majesty’s brother. Where is he?”

Hushed whispers spread across the room. All eyes were on them, staring. The human who had spoken quickly backed, lowering their head. A monster rose from a divan, running into another room. Papyrus’ soul drummed in his ears. He swallowed, feeling bile rising in his throat. Worry coiled in his stomach. It felt as thought he would vomit. Even so, he stood still, watching the many concubines. Technically they were his now, he supposed. The thought made him feel sick.

A door squeaked. “Papyrus?” a soft voice asked. Then, more incredulous, it added, “ _Fell?_ ”

Both of them twisted around, his soul jumping in his chest. Slapping his hands before his mouth, he stared at Sans, who was standing in a golden doorframe. He was dressed in almost translucent robes, and staring at them, his blue eyes shining. One of his hands rested on the blue ecto-stomach protruding from his midriff.

Tears gathered in Papyrus’ eyes. From joy or sorrow, he didn’t know. Sans took a slow step forward, and he ran the few stairs down, and up to his older brother. Sinking to his knees before the shorter, he embraced Sans as gently as he could, a sob rising in his throat. It escaped him when Sans put his arms around him as well, pressing him closer. The ecto-stomach pressed against Papyrus’ ribs, soft and big. He hated it. But he didn’t care.

“Shh, Paps, it’s all right,” Sans murmured, stroking the back of his head soothingly. Much the same way he’d done when they were children and Papyrus had fallen off the horses and camels when he was learning how to ride. This time, though, there was bone-deep sadness in Sans’ voice. He could feel something wet through the fabrics draped over his shoulder, where Sans hid his face. He shook in Sans’ arms, and he thought he could feel Sans shiver as well.

Eventually, Sans freed himself, holding Papyrus at an arm-length’s distance. His face was wet as he smiled shakily. “What are you doing in here? What is _Fell_ doing here?”

“I-“ Papyrus swallowed, chewing on the tongue he’d summoned for that exact purpose. He took a deep breath before he smiled back. His face was sticky. “The king is dead. This is my kingdom now – or rather, my child’s.” He pointed at his stomach, although he’d taken to covering it up now when he finally had control. His pregnancy was no longer visible for onlookers. “You’re free.”

“Oh Papyrus.” The words came as a sigh, relief lighting up Sans’ eyes even as they turned wet again while he stared at Papyrus’ stomach.

Almost giggling, Papyrus leaned forward. Whispered into Sans’ ear, “I killed him.”

“You- you did? And we’re… he’s _gone_?” There was the disbelief. Papyrus nodded, pride making him straighten. Sans closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, Sans beamed. The relief and gratitude in his eyes was enough to make Papyrus boggle.

He almost staggered backwards as Sans threw himself into his arms, warm and whole. Healthy. Even if he was carrying that vermin’s offspring. More tears leaked through Papyrus’ robes as he stood, lifting Sans with him. He breathed in his brother’s scent, which was almost foreign now. Perfumes and spices and stone instead of sand and sunshine. Even so, he still smelled like _Sans_ , like the brother who’d held him and Slim when they had nightmares as children.

“Thank you,” Sans whispered, his voice breaking in the middle. “Thank you.”

Papyrus’ smile was wobbly as he murmured nonsense words into Sans’ neck. Glancing at Fell, he could almost see something red glimmer in the corner of the warrior’s eye. When he realized he was watching, Fell quickly blinked it away. Then he stepped out of the way, allowing Sans and Papyrus to leave the harem behind.

Just before he closed the door, Papyrus heard him tell the concubines, “You’re all free. His Majesty have no interest in a harem.”

* * *

Papyrus held Sans as close as he could as he left the harem and the king’s room behind. Ignored the feeling of their stomachs pressing together. Disgusting. It was disgusting. He couldn’t wait to be rid of the _leech_. The Syrali averted their eyes, quickly stepping out of his way, while many of the Dhurinei stared at them with compassion. Even though Papyrus didn’t want their pity, it felt _so good_ to be surrounded by his own people again. Like a healing balm for his soul.

“Are you two okay?” Fell asked quietly, walking briskly by his side. “Should I leave?”

Ignoring the thickness in his throat, Papyrus smiled. “Yes. Thank you, Fell.”

The other nodded sharply before leaving, turning around a corner. Papyrus watched after him as he left before entering the rooms he’d chosen as his own. It was a guest room. Not the king’s, not the one’s he’d been given before the wedding. He didn’t want either of those. In fact, he considered tearing this palace down to the ground and build himself a new somewhere else.

When he stepped into the room, the servants in there quickly scuttered outside, leaving them alone. Sinking down on the bed, he studied Sans closely. His brother had stopped crying, and instead just sat there, staring at him. A hand on his cheek kept his face in place as Sans studied him, as though he didn’t dare believe it was real.

“What do you want to do now?” Papyrus asked, gesturing vaguely at everything. At Sans’ stomach.

An almost hysterical laugh escaped Sans. He grinned up at him humourlessly. “It’s too late to do anything. The thing’ll need to be born. But I don’t want it after. Please, Papyrus, I don’t _want it_. I _can’t_.”

At the agitated tone, Papyrus held him closer, carefully manoeuvring his arms so they didn’t touch the ecto-flesh. He hushed the other quietly. “You don’t need to. We’ll send it away, alright? Adopt it to another country. It’ll never know who its parents were.”

Nodding, Sans sighed deeply, an almost-sob escaping him as he sank deeper into Papyrus. “And you?”

“I’m getting rid of it. I’m not carrying _his_ progeny to term. I’d rather die.”

Especially when giving birth wasn’t exactly safe. The risk of dying was high. The thought of Sans going through that terrified him, but his brother was right. He looked ready to burst. It was far too late for an abortion for him.

* * *

 

“Right.” Sans sounded exhausted, but he smiled up at him. “What about Slim?”

Papyrus had no idea. But soon they’d find out, he knew. The ‘trial of the century’ was coming up.

The courtroom was silent. Single hushed whispers were heard once in a while, but otherwise, no one uttered a word. Sitting behind the highest desk, Papyrus looked out over the people. Over the Syrali in the benches and the Dhurinei guards gathered everywhere. He still had a hard time believing so many of them had come; although the tribes of Dhurin would always stand together against the rest of the world, they had been warring for centuries, and Syrali had never threatened to actually invade their desert.

Dressed in robes as yellow as the Sun, he looked like an angel. An angel of judgement. Sans sat at his side, now in similar, fully covering robes, and Fell was at his other side, standing as his right hand and bodyguard. Every little whisper died out as the doors in the back of the hall was opened. Escorted by guards, Blue walked in, his head high. Even though his hands were tied behind his back, he looked the part of the prince. Papyrus was almost impressed.

When he reached the front of the court room, he glared up at Papyrus defiantly. Hatred shone in his eyes. It was visible in the curve of his mouth as he sneered. Papyrus smiled down at him. He didn’t return the feelings. In some ways, he even cared for Blue. Was grateful for the kindness he’d been shown. Otherwise, he would’ve broken a long time ago.

“Blue al-Hamidi,” Papyrus began, standing up. Shuffling noises came as everyone in the room did the same. “Crown Prince of Syrali. You stand before court today, accused for an attempted coup. For trying to steal the throne from its rightful owner. That, as well as aid in the slaughter and enslavement of tribe Aasir.”

Knowing etiquette and what was best for him, Blue didn’t speak. He gritted his teeth, nodding sharply once. A slight breeze swept in through the window, making his robes flutter in the wind. Of course he still dressed well – Papyrus wasn’t about to treat him as a common captive. Blue was a political prisoner, and should be treated as such.

“You have been declared guilty.”

A gasp. Blue’s eyes widened, and for the first time, there was fear in them. As he opened his mouth to speak, Papyrus smiled at him. “Don’t worry. You have been kind to me in my time of need. And so, I will give you an offer. If you are willing.”

“I’m listening. Your Majesty.” The last two words were added on as an afterthought. For a brief second, Papyrus could see a grimace flash over his face as he said them. The expression disappeared as fast as it had come. He ignored it.

“You have two options,” he told Blue. His mouth wanted to grin, but he forced himself to keep the neutral expression. “Either we execute you for treason, or you serve me. That is my offer. You will keep your life, and to a certain extent your freedom, if you swear an oath of loyalty to me, in front of the kingdom.”

“Well?” he asked after a few moments of silence. The expression on Blue’s face was unreadable. Cold, closed off. Burning hatred shone through for a second. Then, Blue bowed his head. His entire body seemed to relax. Papyrus watched with no small amount of satisfaction how the other slowly sank to his knees. He didn’t bow all the way to the ground, but Papyrus didn’t care.

“I’ll swear the oath,” Blue said, his voice steady, “Your Majesty.”

“Perfect.” He nodded. “Now. Last thing. Where is my other brother? Where is Slim?”

His eyes narrowed as Blue glanced up at him, a flash of a grin appearing on his face. It disappeared as fast as it had come, though, and Blue bowed his head again, even lower. “Dead. Since months. His dust is still in his cell beneath the palace.”

* * *

Ever since he got the news, Papyrus had been empty. Sans was still sobbing in his room, the late pregnancy making it impossible for him to keep it in, but Papyrus just. Felt empty. Which was weird, seeing how he was pregnant as well. For two days more. Striding through the palace hallways, he spared few people any gazes. Down, he walked. Down into the dungeon. Fell was as his heel, and a couple other guards surrounded him.

The dungeons stank of faeces and rot. They were so far underground water dropped from the ceiling, despite the desert being above. They had climbed hundreds, perhaps thousands, of stairs to come down here. A rat squeaked, scuttering away as they came. Quiet moans came from the cells they walked past. Only bars kept them separated from the hallways, as well as a small stone threshold which kept the dirt of the cells from flowing out where they were walking.

Just in front of them walked a prison guard. All guards were former prisoners who’d gotten out of their life-sentences in exchange for working in the prison. No one else wanted to. They never left the underground, spending the rest of their lives beneath the desert.

Papyrus shivered in the cold, sweeping his scarf closer around him. This was no place for a Dhurine. And Slim- he exhaled slowly. Slim had spent four months down here before finally wasting away. Before dying. Anger rose in him, but it disappeared as fast as it had come. Rus was dead. There was nothing more to do about it. And Blue would swear the oath of allegiance tomorrow, in front of the entire city.

They stopped before a cell. A monster laid in there, curled up on the ground. Unmoving. But they weren’t dead, or they would’ve been dust. Fallen, perhaps. As he threw a questioning glance on the guard. They nodded.

“Your brother’s cell, Your Majesty,” they said. “This monster has had it for two months now.”

Turning back to the cell, he studied it closely. A thin grey layer covered the ground, and the monster’s fur. For the first time since he’d gotten to know his brother’s fate, Papyrus felt tears spill down his cheeks. He nodded. “I want his dust collected and put in an urn. Slim will get a grand, traditional burial.”

He choked on the words. Fell put a hand on his shoulder, and Papyrus swallowed, clenching his hands. The gesture made his soul feel just a tad lighter. The pain a little easier to bear. A single servant had come with them, and they nodded, starting to gather the dust. Quiet, Papyrus watched. Once they had finished, he took the urn from their hands, cradling it to his chest. His soul burned as he turned around. Inhaling slowly, he started making his way back up again. Back to the sunshine.

* * *

The Sun burned hotly, and the desert sand gleamed in the horizon. One could just see it over the city walls. Longing burned in Papyrus as he watched it, and he couldn’t wait to return. To go back to Dhurin, to his home. When that would happen, he wasn’t certain, but if nothing else now when he was the ruler of Syrali no one would be able to stop him from visiting, if only for a day. That would still have to wait, though.

A crowd had gathered beneath the staircase to the palace. Marble pillars rose above them, but the Sun was in such a position they and the roof they carried did not cast a shadow over the staircase, luckily. Dressed in dark blue robes, Papyrus strode out on it. A golden ribbon held his head-scarf in place. The people dropped to their knees before him, pressing their foreheads to the ground. For a moment, he allowed them. As they were not Dhurinei, he felt no remorse over letting them do so. No self-respecting Dhurine ever would have acted that way. Unless he had no other choice, that is. Even so, he still burned with shame over his own submission during the time he’d been here.

Then he announced that they may rise, and it was faces full of both fear and curiosity and even glee which openly stared at him. A full tribe of Dhurinei surrounded the staircase, giving him all the protection he may need. Him and Sans, who was standing by his side. Sans was dressed in covering, pink robes. The colour of grieving hope. Sans smiled up at him. There were bags beneath his eyes, and the smile was strained, but it was something. Before all of this happened, Sans had rarely been unhappy. Now he seemed to be lost in thought and sorrow most of the time. Papyrus would’ve been too, hadn’t he refused to let Rus destroy him like that even after his death.

“Citizens of Syrali,” he began, and one of his guards who knew Syrali translated it. “As your new ruler, I stand before you on this day. The very day Crown Prince Blue Al-Hamidi will swear his oath of loyalty to me, and then so will the rest of _my_ nobility. May the Sun in Her great glory bless us.”

A murmur rose from the crowd, and he was certain he could hear a couple who were disgruntled over him naming his own goddess instead of their deity. Papyrus really didn’t care. A couple guards parted, allowing Blue to pass by. Blue was dressed in his usual baby blue robes, but still wore the ruby around his neck. The symbol of grief. Papyrus had considered demanding he’d take it off, but that would be nothing but cruel, and he wasn’t about to sink to Rus’ level.

He nodded in greeting. Blue walked with his head bowed, and likely didn’t see it. He sank to his knees before Papyrus. Pressed his forehead against Papyrus’ sandal-clothed feet. For a few seconds, he remained there before he sat upright. His head was still bowed.

When he spoke, he did so in Dhur. “From this day and forward, I, Blue of house Al-Hamidi, swear to faithfully and tirelessly serve Papyrus of Tribe Aasir, ruler of Syrali. I give him my life, my mind, and my soul, and will do everything in my power to assist him in being the best ruler he can be, all according to his interests and wishes. As the last member of house Al-Hamidi, the ancient rulers of Syrali, I surrender my right to the throne to the family of Papyrus, and my house will forever serve them to our best ability and more. This I swear, on the desert, the kingdom, and on my family grave.”

He repeated it all in Syrali before bowing once again. Glee tingled in Papyrus’ body as Blue’s forehead pressed against his feet. It was hard not to grin. Instead he nodded graciously as Blue stood, allowing him to leave.

The nobles did the same, swearing their loyalty and service to Papyrus, and once they were done, Papyrus straightened, addressing the people once more. “There will be a few changed now when I am in charge. From now on, Syrali will be under the jurisdiction of the Sun, our almighty goddess. And from this day and forward, this country will be an official province of Dhurin, and so obey the laws of the mighty desert.”

An upset murmur spread in the crowd, but Papyrus paid it little attention. Exchanging a grin with Sans, he turned around, and the doors closed quietly behind them as they went back inside.

* * *

Blinking blearily, Papyrus yawned. Turning his head away from the bright light, he found himself looking at Sans’ worried face. When his brother met his gaze, he smiled brightly, relief mixed with joy. Papyrus sleepily smiled back. His head was hazy. A few seconds later, his eyes widened, and Sans nodded, smile growing. Without a word, Sans pulled down the blanket covering him, placing his hand over his midriff. It went straight down to his spine. No ecto-stomach in the way.

“It’s over,” Sans whispered, squeezing his hand. “The herbs worked.”

Overwhelming relief hit Papyrus, and he nodded, smiling weakly. Tears gathered in his eyes, and his body shook with a sob making its way up his throat. Tingling with joy, he squeezed Sans’ hand back as tears of joy slid down his face. His brother gently wiped them away.

Thank the Sun, it was _over_. He’d waited until after Blue’s oath to secure his grip on Syrali, and now- Nothing was left of Rus now. A wet laugh escaped him, and he beamed at the healer who immediately was at his side, wiping his forehead with a cold cloth. “Thank you,” he murmured.

She smiled at him. “It’s only my job, Your Majesty.”

“Thank you,” he repeated, another sob making him choke on the words. A laugh much like his escaped Sans. And soon Sans would go into labour, and they’d get rid of the child, sent it far away. They’d found parents in Elawain willing to take it in. Cobblers, he believed. It would never know its origins. Its parents didn’t, only that it came from the desert.

Soon everything Rus would be gone from their lives forever.

The door quietly slid open, and when he turned to see, Fell stepped in. The warrior froze in the door as Papyrus met his gaze, before a gentle smile lit up his face. With a few quick steps, he was at Papyrus’ side, taking his other hand. He didn’t speak, but the relief and happiness in his eyes said it all.

* * *

**Epilogue**

_One Year Later_

Shaking his head, Papyrus stared down at the kneeling skeleton. He sighed in disappointment before he shared a look with Fell. His tribe-brother looked unimpressed, scowling at Blue. Everything was completely silent. The court room was filled to the brim, and yet no one made a single sound as he stood up. Before anyone could follow suit, he waved for them to stay sitting.

Stepping down the podium, and around, he stood before his brother-in-law, staring down at him. Blue met his gaze unflinchingly, hatred burning in his eyelights. Even in shackles, he looked every part the prince. Even without jewellery, even in torn robes. It was somewhat impressing.

Blue’s expression was hateful and angry, but he didn’t speak. Couldn’t, with that gag in his mouth. Crouching, Papyrus pulled it out. Blue spit on the floor, just before his feet.

“Murderer,” he hissed. The word echoed through the courtroom. “I know you killed my brother, you _impostor_.”

Papyrus’ grin was askew when he stared back. His soul drummed in his chest at the challenge in Blue’s eyes. The challenge to deny it. He murmured, “Prove it.”

Standing again, he towered over the prince on the floor. The chains holding Blue’s arms behind his back were tethered to the floor, making it impossible for him to move from his spot. Looking out over the audience, Papyrus said, “Blue Al-Hamidi is a traitor to the throne, and an oath-breaker. Had I been a crueller ruler, I would have destroyed the grave he swore on in punishment, but I will not. He has, however, forfeited his every right to the life he gave to me when he swore said oath.”

“For his crimes against Syrali, for his crimes against the throne, I, Papyrus of Tribe Aasir, ruler of Syrali, hereby sentence Blue Al-Hamidi to death. The execution will be on the great plaza this evening. Court dismissed.”

For months, at the very least, Blue had been plotting on taking the throne back. How he figured Papyrus had killed his brother, he’d refused to say, and short of torture there was no way of getting it out of him. And the Sun didn’t approve of such methods. Neither did he. Unnecessary suffering was cruel and, well, _unnecessary_ , and Papyrus wouldn’t stand for it.

Right now, they were weeding out Blue’s network of spies and allies. It wouldn’t be long until they’d all been executed. But for now. When he gazed down on Blue, there was only the briefest flash of fear in his eyes before it turned into loathing. His gaze was ice-cold when his chains were unlocked and guards forced him to stand.

“May you freeze in Hell, Papyrus,” Blue growled as he was led out.

Staring after him, Papyrus felt the smallest pang of sadness in his soul before he turned around and left. Fell would take care of the rest. Outside of the courtroom, Sans was waiting. He hadn’t wanted to come with them in, uninterested of court politics.

“How did it go?” he asked cheerfully, and Papyrus returned his smile. Fuck Blue and his traitorous ways. He had Sans and Fell, and the support of almost the entire Dhurinei. Everyone that counted. And months after going into labour, Sans was almost back to his old self, even if Papyrus knew he still woke to nightmares he refused to speak about. He did too.

“Just fine,” he replied. “Blue will be executed tonight. Now when he’s out of the picture, I am certain we can have this goddess-forgotten city empty and forgotten within a few years. Soon there will be no more Syrali.”

“And then we go back home?”

“And then we go back home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this wasn't rushed, but whooo it's done! Now when it is, that's almost sad  
> Even so, woah. Done.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who commented! That was a huge part of what kept me going with this!!!!

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment, it really means a lot.  
> So I've got a [Tumblr](https://odderancyart.tumblr.com/) where I post other stories, even if this one will be kept AO3 exclusive due to being a little too dark for my blog. There I will also post any eventual news of delays on updates, or other relevant information.


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